University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


PHILLIS     t^HEATLEY 


THE    POEMS 


PHILLIS  WHEATLEY 


As  they  were  originally  published  in  London,  1773 

Re  published  by  R.  R.  and  C.  C.  Wright 

Philadelphia,  Pa. 

1909 


A.  ftt.  £.  fiook  (flour? at 
Printers 


Our  purpose  in  republishing  this  little  book  of  poems,  a  cen 
tury  and  a  quarter  after  the  death  of  the  author,  is  to  acquaint 
the  present  generation  more  thoroughly  with  her  remarkable 
genius.  She  was  born  in  Africa,  and  at  the  age  of  eight 
years  was  brought  to  America  and  sold  into  slavery  to  a 
Mrs.  John  Wheatley  in  Boston.  Within  a  year  of  her  ar 
rival  she  could  read  and  write  English,  of  which  she  was 
previously  in  entire  ignorance.  She  also  acquired  a  knowl 
edge  of  the  classics,  and  developed  a  pleasing  poetic  style. 
Before  she  was  twenty  her  writings  had  attracted  the  at 
tention  of  many  literary  people  of  England,  and  in  1773  a 
volume  of  her  poems  was  published  in  London.  Since  then 
there  have  been  many  editions  published;  one  in  1784  in 
Boston,  another  in  Albany,  1793;  another  in  1802,  another  in 
1805,  another  1816.  Memoirs  and  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 
in  1834,  1835  and  1838.  Her  poems  constituted  the  second 
volume  of  Abbie  Joseph  La  Valle's  book,  "The  Negro 
Equalled  by  few  Europeans,"  in  1801.  Besides  these,  many 
separate  poems  have  been  published,  perhaps  the  earliest  being 
in  memory  of  George  Whiteneld,  printed  in  1770.  Many  of  her 
poems  were  not  published.  She  wrote  a  poem  to  George 
Washington,  which  the  general  highly  complimented,  but 
which  he  was  too  modest  to  publish. 

Phillis  Wheatley  was  married  to  a  Mr.  Peters,  in  Boston, 
but  died  soon  after  in  1784,  at  about  the  age  of  thirty-one 
years.  Her.  poems  were  written  and  published  before  her 
marriage,  and  she  was  known  as  Phillis  Wheatley  rather  than 
Phillis  W.  Peters. 


og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      {J 

Phillis  Wheatley  served  as  no  one  of  her  day  could — to 
prove  conclusively  the  capacity  for  the  highest  culture  on  the 
part  of  the  Negro  race.  The  day  of  contentions  on  this  sub 
ject  has  passed  and  there  is  no  need  for  any  defence  along^ 
this  line.  But  her  name  and  works  should  never  perish ; 
they  should  always  be  cherished  -most  warmly  by  the 
members  of  her  race,  and  the  lovers  of  literature  generally. 
Her  poems  stand  for  themselves.  They  show  a  mind  of  re 
finement,  highly  religious  with  strong  convictions  as  to  the 
life  after  death  and  the  felicity  of  the  departed  good. 

Her  language  shows  the  grade  of  her  reading,  and  its  wide 
range.  She  was  surprisingly  familiar  with  the  Bible  and  with 
the  classics,  while  her  poems  show  that  she  was  also  a  care 
ful  observer  of  Nature. 

We  have  adhered,  as  closely  as  possible,  to  the  quaint  forms 
and  usages  which  occur  in  the  earliest  edition,  thinking  that 
these  may  possess  something  of  interest  and  charm  for  the 
student  of  literature,  while  they  can  scarcely  prove  of  ma 
terial  disadvantage  to  the  casual  reader. 

RICHARD  R.  WRIGHT,  JR., 
CHARLOTTE   CROGMAN   WRIGHT. 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


First  guhlifiljrr'B  ]lrrfar*,  IT?  3 

The  following  Poems  were  written  originally  for  the 
Amusement  of  the  Author,  as  they  were  the  Products  of 
her  leisure  Moments.  She  had  no  Intention  ever  to  have 
published  them  ;  nor  would  they  now  have  made  their  Ap 
pearance,  but  at  the  Importunity  of  many  of  her  best  and 
most  generous  Friends,  to  whom  she  considers  herself,  as  un 
der  the  greatest  Obligations. 

As  her  Attempts  in  Poetry  are  now  sent  into  the  World,  it 
is  hoped  the  Critic  will  not  severely  censure  their  Defects  ; 
and  we  presume  they  have  too  much  Merit  to  be  cast  aside 
with  Contempt,  as  worthless  and  trifling  Effusions. 

As  to  the  Disadvantages  she  has  labored  under,  with  re 
gard  to  Learning,  nothing  needs  to  be  offered,  as  her  Mas 
ter's  Letter  in  the  following  Page  will  sufficiently  show  the 
Difficulties  in  this  Respect  she  had  to  encounter. 

With  all  their  Imperfections,  the  Poems  are  now  humbly 
submitted  to  the  Perusal  of  the  Public. 


4Hr. 

The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  Letter  sent  by  the  Author's 
Master  to  the  Publisher: 

Phillis  was  brought  from  Africa  to  America,  in  the  year 
1761,  between  seven  and  eight  Years  of  age,  without  any  as 
sistance  from  School  Education,  and  by  only  what  she  was 
taught  in  the  Family,  she  in  sixteen  Months'  Time  from  her 
arrival,  attained  the  English  Language,  to  which  she  was  an 
utter  Stranger  before  ;  to  such  a  Degree,  as  to  read  any,  the 
most  difficult  parts  of  the  Sacred  Writings,  to  the  great  As 
tonishment  of  all  who  heard  her. 

As  to  her  Writing,  her  own  Curiosity  led  her  to  it  ;  and  this 
she  learned  in  so  short  a  Time,  that  in  the  year  1765,  she  wrote 
a  Letter  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Occom,  the  Indian  Minister,  while  in 
England. 

She  has  a  great  Inclination  to  learn  the  Latin  Tongue,  and 
has  made  some  Progress  in  it.  This  Relation  is  given  by 
her  Master,  who  brought  her,  and  with  whom  she  now  lives. 

JOHN  WHEATLEY. 

Boston,  November  14,  1772. 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


As  it  has  been  Repeatedly  suggested  to  the  Publisher  by 
Persons  who  have  seen  the  Manuscript,  that  Numbers  would 
be  ready  to  suspect  that  they  were  not  really  the  Writings  of 
PHIUJS,  he  has  procured  the  following  Attestations  from  the 
most  respectable  Characters  in  Boston,  that  none  might  have 
the  least  Ground  for  disputing  their  Originality: 

We,  whose  Names  are  Underwritten,  do  assure  the  World, 
that  the  POEMS  specified  in  the  following  Page*   (the  words 
"following  Page,"  allude  to  the  Contents  of  the  Manuscript 
Copy,  which  are  wrote  at  the  back  of  the  above  Attestation), 
were  (as  we  verily  believe)  written  by  Phillis,  a  young  Negro 
Girl,  who  was  but  a  few  Years  since,  brought  an  uncultivated 
Barbarian  from  Africa,  and  has  ever  since  been,  and  now  is, 
under  the  Disadvantage  c-f  serving  as  a  Slave  in  a  Family  in 
this   Town.     She   has  been   examined   by   some   of  the   best 
Judges,  and  is  thought  qualified  to  write  them. 
His  Excellency,  Thomas  Hutchinson,  Governor 
The  Hon.  Andrew  Oliver,  Lieutenant-Governor 
The  Hon.  Thomas  Hubbard  Mr.  John  Wheatley,  her  Master 
The  Hon.  John  Erving  The  Rev.  Charles  Channey,  D.D. 

The  Hon.  James  Pitts  The  Rev.  Mather  Boyles,  D.D. 

The  Hon.  Harrison  Gray  The  Rev.  Ed.  Pemberton,  D.D. 
The  Hon.  James  Bowdoin  The  Rev.  Andrew  Elliot,  D.D. 
John  Hancock,  Esq.  The  Rev.  Samuel  Cooper,  D.D. 

Joseph  Green,  Esq.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Samuel  Mather 

Richard  Carey,  Esq.  The  Rev.  Mr.  John  Moorhead 

N.  B.  —  The  original  Attestation,  signed  by  the  above  Gen 
tlemen,  may  be  seen  by  applying  to  Archibald  Bell,  Bookseller, 
No.  8  Aldgate  Street. 


of 


FRONTISPIECE,   PORTRAIT   PHILIPS  WHEATLEY 

PUBLISHERS'  NOTE  ............................  ----  ......  3 

FIRST  PUBLISHERS'  PREFACE,  1773  ........................  5 

MR.  WHEATLEY'S  LETTER  ................................  5 

To  THE  PUBLIC    ........................................  6 

To  MAECENAS  ..........................................  7 

ON  VIRTUE  .............................................  9 

To  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAMBRIDGE,  IN  NEW  ENGLAND  ......  10 

To  THE  KING'S  MOST  EXCELLENT  MAJESTY,  1768  ..........  12 

ON  BEING  BROUGHT  FROM  AFRICA  TO  AMERICA  ............  12 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  REV.  DR.  SEWELL,  1769  ................  T3 

ON   THE   DEATH   OF   THE   REV.   MR.    GEORGE   WHITEFH&D 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY  OF  FIVE  YEARS  OF  AGE.  .  17 
ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  ................   19 

To  A  LADY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HER  HUSBAND  ..............  20 

GOLIATH  OF  GATH   ......................................  21 

THOUGHTS  ON  THE  WORKS  OF  PROVIDENCE  ................  3* 

To  A  LADY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THREE  RELATIONS  .  .  .  .......  36 

To  A  CLERGYMAN  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  His  LADY  ............  38 


og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

AN  HYMN  TO  THE  MORNING 40 

AN   HYMN  TO  THE  EVENING 41 

ISAIAH  Ixiii :   1-8 42 

ON  RECOLLECTION   43 

ON  IMAGINATION   45 

A  FUNERAL  POEM  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  C.  E.,  AN  INFANT  OF 

TWELVE  MONTHS   48 

To  CAPTAIN  H D,  OF  THE  65TH  REGIMENT 50 

To  THE  RIGHT  HONORABLE  WILLIAM,  EARL  OF  DARTMOUTH, 
His  MAJESTY'S  SECRETARY  OF  STATE  FOR  NORTH 
AMERICA,  ETC 50 

ODE  TO  NEPTUNE   52 

To  A  LADY  ON  HER  COMING  TO  NORTH  AMERICA  WITH  HER 

SON,  FOR  THE  RECOVERY  OF  HER  HEALTH 53 

To  A  LADY  ON  HER  REMARKABLE  PRESERVATION  IN  A  HUR 
RICANE  IN  NORTH-CAROLINA  55 

To  A  LADY  AND  HER  CHILDREN,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  HER  SON 
AND  THEIR  BROTHER  56 

To  A  GENTLEMAN  AND  LADY  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  LADY'S 
BROTHER  AND  SISTER,  AND  A  CHILD  OF  THE  NAME  OF 
Avis,  AGED  ONE  YEAR  58 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  DR.  SAMUEL  MARSHALL,  1771 59 

To  A  GENTLEMAN  ON  His  VOYAGE  TO  GREAT  BRITAIN  FOR 
THE  RECOVERY  OF  His  HEALTH  .  .  61 


°g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g° 

To   THE    REV.    DR.    THOMAS    ARMORY    ON    READING    His 
SERMONS  ON  DAILY  DEVOTION,  IN  WHICH  THAT  DUTY 

is  RECOMMENDED  AND  ASSISTED 62 

ON  THE  DEATH  OF  J.  C,  AN  INFANT 64 

AN  HYMN  TO  HUMANITY   66 

To  THE  HONORABLE  T.  H.,  ESQ.,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  His 
DAUGHTER    68 

NIOBE  IN  DISTRESS  FOR  HER  CHILDREN  SLAIN  BY  APOLLO, 
FROM  OVID'S  METAMORPHOSES,  BOOK  vi,  AND  FROM  A 

VIEW  OF  THE  PAINTING  OF  MR.  RICHARD  WILSON 70 

To   S.   M.,  A   YOUNG  AFRICAN   PAINTER,  ON   SEEING  His 

WORKS    79 

To  His  HONOUR  THE  LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR,  ON  THE  DEATH  OF 

His  LADY,  MARCH  24, 1773 81 

A  FAREWELL  TO  AMERICA   83 

A  REBUS  BY  I.  B 86 

AN  ANSWER  TO  I.  B,,  BY  PHILLIS  WHEATLEY..  .  88 


on 

an  iHarrntas 


Maecenas,  yon,  beneath  the  myrtle  shade 
Read  o'er  what  poets  sung,  and  shepherds  play'd. 
What  felt  those  poets  but  you  feel  the  same? 
Does  not  your  soul  possess  the  sacred  flame? 
Their  noble  strains  your  equal  genius  shares 
In  softer  language,  and  diviner  airs. 

While  Homer  paints,  lo  !  circumf  us'd  in  air, 
Celestial  Gods  in  mortal  forms  appear; 
Swift  as  they  move  hear  each  recess  rebound, 
Heav'n    quakes,    earth    trembles,    and    the    shores 

resound. 

Great  sire  of  verse,  before  my  mortal  eyes, 
The  lightnings  blaze  across  the  vaulted  skies, 
And,  as  the  thunder  shakes  the  heav'nly  plains, 
A  deep  felt  horror  thrills  through  all  my  veins. 
When  gentler  strains  demand  thy  graceful  song, 
The  lengthening  line  moves  languishing  along. 
When  great  Patroclus  courts  Achilles'  aid, 
The  grateful  tribute  of  my  tears  is  paid; 
Prone  on  the  shore  he  feels  the  pangs  of  love, 

7 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g 

And  stern  P elides  tend' rest  passions  move. 

Great  Metro's  strain  in  heav'nly  numbers  flows, 
The  Nine  inspire,  and  all  the  bosom  glows, 
O,  could  I  rival  thine  and  Virgil's  page, 
Or  claim  the  Muses  with  the  Mantuan  sage; 
Soon  the  same  beauties  should  my  mind  adorn, 
And  the  same  ardors  in  my  soul  should  burn ; 
Then  should  my  song  in  bolder  notes  arise, 
And  all  my  numbers  pleasingly  surprise; 
But  here  I  sit,  and  mourn  a  grov'ling  mind, 
That  fain  would  mount,  and  ride  upon  the  wind. 

Not  you,  my  friend,  these  plaintive  strains  be 
come, 

Not  vou,  whose  bosom  is  the  Muses'  home; 
When  they  from  tow'ring  Helicon  retire, 
They  fan  in  you  the  bright  immortal  fire, 
But  I  less  happy,  cannot  raise  the  song, 
The  fault'ring  music  dies  upon  my  tongue. 

The  happier  Terence*  all  the  choir  inspired, 
His  soul  replenished,  and  his  bosom  fir'd; 
But  say,  ye  Muses.,  why  this  partial  grace 
To  one  alone  in  Afric's  sable  race; 
From  age  to  age  transmitting  thus  his  name 
With  the  first  glory  in  the  rolls  of  fame  ? 

*He  was  an  African  by  birth. 

8 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g° 

Thy  virtues,  great  Maecenas!  shall  be  sung 
In  praise  of  him,  from  whom  those  virtues  sprung; 
While  blooming  wreaths  around  thy  temples  spread, 
I'll  snatch  a  laurel  from  thine  honor'd  head, 
While  you  indulgent  smile  upon  the  deed. 

As  long:  as  Thames  in  streams  majestic  flows, 
Or  Naiads  in  their  oozy  beds  repose, 
While  Phoebus  reigns  above  the  starry  train 
While  bright  Aurora  purples  o'er  the  main, 
So  long,  great  Sir,  the  muse  thy  praise  shall  sing, 
.So  long  thy  praise  shall  make  Parnassus  ring ; 
Then  grant  Maecenas,  thy  paternal  rays, 
Hear  me  propitious,  and  defend  my  lays. 


©n  TJtrto 

O  Thou  bright  jewel  in  my  aim  I  strive 

To  comprehend  thee.  Thine  own  words  declare 

Wisdom  is  higher  than  a  fool  can  reach. 

I^cease  to  wonder,  and  no  more  attempt 

Thine  height  t'  explore,  or  fathom  thy  profound, 

But,  O,  my  soul,  sink  not  into  despair, 

Virtue  is  near  thee,  and  with  gentle  hand 

Would  now  embrace  thee,  hovers  o'er  thine  head. 

Fain  would  the  heav'n-born  soul  with  her  converse, 

9 


°g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

Then  seek,  then  court  her  for  her  promis'd  bliss, 

Auspicious  queen,  thine  heav'nly  pinions  spread,. 
And  lead  celestial  Chastity  along; 
Lo!  now  her  sacred  retinue  descends, 
Array'd  in  glory  from  the  orbs  above. 
Attend  me,  Virtue,  thro'  my  youthful  years! 
O  leave  me  not  to  the  false  joys  of  time! 
But  guide  my  steps  to  endless  life  and  bliss. 
Greatness,  or  Goodness,  say  what  I  shall  call  thee, 
To  give  an  higher  appellation  still, 
Teach  me  a  better  strain,  a  nobler  lay, 
O  thou,  enthron'd  with  Cherubs  in  the  realms  of 
day. 


,  n 


While  an  intrinsic  ardor  prompts  to  write, 
The  muses  promise  to  assist  my  pen  ; 
'Twas  not  long  since  I  left  my  native  shore 
The  land  of  errors,  and  Egyptian  gloom  : 
Father  of  mercy,  'twas  thy  gracious  hand 
Brought  me  in  safety  from  those  dark  abodes. 

Students,  to  you  'tis  giv'n  to  scan  the  heights- 
Above,  to  traverse  the  ethereal  space, 
And  mark  the  systems  of  revolving  worlds. 

10 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


Still  more,  ye  sons  of  science,  ye  receive 
The  blissful  news  by  messengers  from  heav'n 
How  Jesus'  blood  for  your  redemption  flows. 
See  Him  with  hands  outstretched  upon  the  cross  - 
Immense  compassion  in  His  bosom  glows ; 
He  hears  revilers,  nor  resents  their  scorn; 
What  matchless  mercy  in  the  Son  of  God ! 
When  the  whole  human  race  by  sin  had  fall'n, 
He  deign'd  to  die  that  they  might  rise  again, 
And  share  with  Him  in  the  sublimest  skies, 
Life  without  death,  and  glory  without  end. 
Improve  your  privileges  while  they  stay, 
Ye  pupils,  and  each  hour  redeem,  that  bears 
Or  good  or  bad  report  of  you  to  heav'n. 
Let  sin,  that  baneful  evil  to  the  soul, 
By  you  be  shunned,  nor  once  remit  your  guard  ;. 
Suppress  the  deadly  serpent  in  its  egg. 
Ye  blooming  plants  of  human  race  divine, 
An  Ethiop  tells  you  'tis  your  greatest  foe; 
Its  transient  sweetness  turns  to  endless  pain, 
And  in  immense  perdition  sinks  the  soul. 


11 


-g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      {J 
©0  tlf?  SCntg'fi  JBflfii  Exrrllimt  iia^atg,  1T6H 

Your  subjects  hope,  dread  Sire 

The  crown  upon  your  brows  may  flourish  long, 
And  that  your  arm  may  in  your  God  be  strong ! 
O,  may  your  sceptre  num'rous  nations  sway, 
And  all  with  love  and  readiness  obey! 

But  how  shall  we  the  British,  King  reward  ? 
Rule  thou  in  peace,  our  father,  and  our  lord! 
Midst  the  remembrance  of  thy  favors  past, 
The  meanest  peasants  most  admire  the  last.* 
May  George,  beloved  by  all  the  nations  round, 
Live    with     heav'n's    choicest     constant    blessings 

crown'd ! 

'Great  God,  direct,  and  guard  him  from  on  high, 
And  from  his  head  let  ev'ry  evil  fly! 
And  may  each  clime  with  equal  gladness  see 
A  monarch's  smile  can  set  his  subjects  free ! 


©tt  bring  bnwglji  fmm  Afrira  ia  Ammra, 

"'Twas  mercy  brought  me  from  my  Pagan  land, 
Taught  my  benighted  soul  to  understand 
That  there's  a  God,  that  there's  a  Saviour  too ; 
'Once  I  redemption  neither  sought  nor  knew, 
Some  view  our  sable  race  with  scornful  eye, 
"Their  color  is  a  diabolic  die." 
Remember,  Christians,  Negroes,  black  as  Cain, 
May  be  refined,  and  join  th'  angelic  train. 

*  The  repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act. 

12 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


Sr. 


Ere  yet  the  morn  its  lovely  blushes  spread, 

See  Seivell  number'd  with  the  happy  dead. 

Hail,  holy  man,  arriv'd  th'  immortal  shore, 

Though  we  shall  hear  thy  warning  voice  no  morer 

Come,  let  us  all  behold  with  wishful  eyes 

The  saint  ascending  to  his  native  skies; 

From  hence  the  prophet  wing'd  his  rapt'rous  way 

To  the  blest  mansions  in  eternal  day. 

Then  begging  for  the  Spirit  of  our  God, 

And  panting  eager  for  the  same  abode, 

Come,  let  us  all  with  the  same  vigour  rise, 

And  take  a  prospect  of  the  blissful  skies  ; 

While  on  our  minds  Christ's  image  is  imprest. 

And  the  dear  Saviour  glows  in  ev'ry  breast. 

Thrice  happy  saint!  to  find  thy  heav'n  at  last, 

What  compensation  for  the  evils  past; 

Great  God,  incomprehensible,  unknown 
By  sense,  we  bow  at  thine  exalted  throne. 
O,  while  we  beg  Thine  excellence  to  feel, 
Thy  sacred  Spirit  to  our  hearts  reveal, 
And  give  us  of  that  mercy  to  partake, 
Which  Thou  hast  promised  for  the  Saviour's  sake? 

13 


°B>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <S> 

"Sewell  is  dead."  Swift-pinion'd  Fame  thus  cry'd, 
"Is  Sewell  dead?"  my  trembling  tongue  reply'd, 
O,  what  a  blessing  in  his  flight  deny'd! 
How  oft  for  us  that  holy  prophet  pray'd! 
How  oft  to  us  the  Word  of  Life  convey'd! 
By  duty  urg'd  my  mournful  verse  to  close, 
I  for  his  tomb  this  epitaph  compose. 

"Lo,  here  a  man,  redeem'd  by  Jesus'  blood, 
'"A  sinner  once,  but  now  a  saint  with  God; 
'"Behold  ye  rich,  ye  poor,  ye  fools,  ye  wise, 
"Nor  let  his  monument  your  heart  surprise; 

'Twill  tell  you  what  this  holy  man  has  done, 
"Which  gives  him  brighter  lustre  than  the  sun. 
"Listen,  ye  happy,  from  your  seats  above. 
"I  speak  sincerely,  while  I  speak  and  love, 
"He  sought  the  paths  of  piety  and  truth, 
"By  these  made  happy  from  his  early  youth; 
"In  glooming  years  that  grace  divine  he  felt, 
"Which  rescues  sinners  from  the  chains  of  guilt. 
"Mourn  him,  ye  indigent,  whom  he  has  fed, 
"And  henceforth  seek,  like  him,  for  living  bread; 
'"Ev'n  Christ,  the  bread  descending  from  above, 
*'And  ask  an  interest  in  his  saving  love. 
"Mourn  him,  ye  youth,  to  whom  he  oft  has  told 
•"God's  gracious  wonders  from  the  times  of  old. 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

"I  too  have  cause  this  mighty  loss  to  mourn, 
"For  he,  my  monitor,  will  not  return. 
"O  when  shall  we  to  his  blest  state  arrive? 
""When  the  same  graces  in  our  bosoms  thrive." 


©n  tlj?  5?atlj  0f  tire  Ikti.  JHr. 

irra 


Hail,  happy  saint,  on  thine  immortal  throne, 
Possest  of  glory,  life  and  bliss  unknown; 
We  hear  no  more  the  music  of  thy  tongue, 
Thy  wonted  auditories  cease  to  throng. 
Thy  sermons  in  unequall'd  accents  flow'd, 
And  ev'ry  bosom  with  devotion  glow'd  ; 
Thou  didst  in  strains  of  eloquence  refin'd 
Inflame  the  heart  and  captivate  the  mind. 
Unhappy  we  the  setting  sun  deplore, 
So  glorious  once,  but  ah  !  it  shines  no  more. 

Behold  the  prophet  in  his  tow  'ring  flight! 
He  leaves  the  earth  for  heav'n's  unmeasured  height, 
And  worlds  unknown  receive  him  from  our  sight. 
There  Whitefield  wings  with  rapid  course  his  way, 
And  sails  to  Zion  through  vast  seas  of  day. 
Thy  pray'rs,  great  saint,  and  thine  incessant  cries 

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og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <£ 

Have  pierc'd  the  bosom  of  thy  native  skies. 
Thou  moon  hast  seen,  and  all  the  stars  of  light, 
How  he  has  wrestled  with  his  God  by  night. 
He  pray'd  that  grace  in  ev'ry  heart  might  dwell, 
He  long'd  to  see  America  excel: 
He  charg'd  its  youth  that  ev'ry  grace  divine 
Should  with  full  lustre  in  their  conduct  shine; 
That  Saviour,  which  his  soul  did  first  receive, 
The  greatest  gift  that  ev'n  a  God  can  give, 
He  freely  offer'd  to  the  num'rous  throng, 
That  on  his  lips  with  list'ning  pleasure  hung. 

"Take  him,  ye  wretched,  for  your  only  good, 
"Take  him,  ye  starving  sinners,  for  your  food. 
"Ye  thrifty,  come  to  this  life-giving  stream, 
"Ye  preachers,  take  him  for  your  joyful  theme; 
"Take  him  my  dear  Americans,  he  said, 
"Be  your  complaints  on  his  kind  bosom  laid ; 
"Take  him,  ye  Africans,  he  longs  for  yon, 
''Impartial  Saviour  is  his  title  due; 
"Washed  in  the  fountain  of  redeeming  blood, 
"You  shall  be  sons  and  kings,  and  priests  to  God.'r 

Great  Countess,*  we  Americans  revere 
Thy  name,  and  mingle  in  thy  grief  sincere ; 
New  England  deeply  feels,  the  Orphans  mourn, 

*The  Countess  of  Huntingdon,  to  whom  Mr.  Whitefield  was  chaplaian. 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

Their  more  than  father  will  no  more  return. 
But,  though  arrested  by  the  hand  of  death, 
Whit  eft  eld  no  more  exerts  his  lab' ring  breath. 
Yet  let  us  view  him  in  th'  eternal  skies, 
Let  ev'ry  heart  to  this  bright  vision  rise; 
While  the  tomb  safe  retains  its  sacred  trust, 
Till  life  divine  re-animates  his  dust. 


iljr  S?atlj  of  a  IJomtri  IGabij  of 
ears  of  A0? 


From  dark  abodes  to  fair  ethereal  light 

Th'  enraptured  innocent  has  wing'd  her  flight;: 

On  the  kind  bosom  of  eternal  love 

She  finds  unknown  beatitude  above. 

This  known,  ye  parents,  nor  her  loss  deplore, 

She  feels  the  iron  hand  of  pain  no  more; 

The  dispensations  of  unerring  grace, 

Should  turn  your  sorrows  into  grateful  praise;: 

Let  then  no  tears  for  her  henceforward  flow, 

No  more  distress  in  our  dark  vale  below, 

Her  morning  sun,  which  rose  divinely  bright,- 
Was  quickly  mantled  with  the  gloom  of  night; 
But  hear  in  heav'n's  blest  bow'rs  your  Nancy  fair, 
And  learn  to  imitate  her  language  there. 

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"Thou,  Lord,  whom  I  behold  with  glory  crown'd 
"By  what  sweet  name,  and  in  what  tuneful  sound 
"Wilt  thou  be  prais'd?    Seraphic  pow'rs  are  faint, 
"Infinite  love  and  majesty  to  paint. 
"To  thee  let  all  their  graceful  voices  raise, 
"And  saints  and  angels  join  their  songs  of  praise." 

Perfect  in  bliss  she  from  her  heav'nly  home 
Looks  down,  and  smiling  beckons  you  to  come; 
Why  then,  fond  parents,  why  these  fruitless  groans  ? 
Restrain  your  tears,  and  cease  your  plaintive  moans, 
Freed  from  a  world  of  sin,  and  snares,  and  pain, 
Why  would  you  wish  your  daughter  back  again? 
No — bow  resign'd.     Let  hope  your  grief  control, 
And  check  the  rising  tumult  of  the  soul. 
Calm  in  the  prosperous,  and  adverse  day, 
Adore  the  God  who  gives  and  takes  away ; 
Eye  him  in  all,  His  holy  name  revere, 
Upright  your  actions  and  your  hearts  sincere, 
Till  having  sail'd  through  life's  tempestuous  sea, 
And  from  its  rocks,  and  boist'rous  billows  free, 
Yourselves,  safe  landed  on  the  blissful  shore, 
Shall  join  your  happy  babe  to  part  no  more. 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


©n  ilje  Ifcatlj  of  a  fnuttg 


Who  taught  thee  conflict  with  the  pow'rs  of  night, 
To  vanquish  Satan  in  the  fields  of  fight? 
Who  strung  thy  feeble  arms  with  might  unknown, 
How  great  thy  conquest,  and  how  bright  thy  crown  ! 
War  with  each  princedom,  throne  and  pow'r  is  o'er, 
The  scene  is  ended  to  return  no  more. 
O,  could  my  muse  thy  seat  on  high  behold, 
How  decked  with  laurel,  how  enrich'd  with  gold  ! 
O  could  she  hear  what  praise  thine  harp  employs, 
How  sweet  thine  anthems,  how  divine  thy  joys  ! 
What  heav'nly  grandeur  should  exalt  her  strain! 
What  holy  raptures  in  her  numbers  reign! 
To  soothe  the  troubles  of  the  mind  to  peace, 
To  still  the  tumult  of  life's  tossing  seas, 
To  ease  the  anguish  of  the  parent  heart, 
What  shall  my  sympathizing  verse  impart? 
Where  is  the  balm  to  heal  so  deep  a  wound? 
Where  shall  a  sovereign  remedy  be  found? 
Look,  gracious  Spirit,  from  thine  heav'nly  bow'r, 
And  thy  full  joys  into  their  bosoms  pour; 

19 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


The  raging  tempest  of  their  grief  control, 
And  spread  the  dawn  of  glory  through  the  soul, 
To  eye  the  path  the  saint  departed  trod, 
And  trace  him  to  the  bosom  of  his  God. 


a  Cafcg  0n  tlj?  Ifcatlj  nf  l$ 


Grim  monarch  !  see,  deprived  of  vital  breath 
A  young  physician  in  the  dust  of  death! 
Dost  thou  go  on  incessant  to  destroy? 
The  grief  to  double  and  lay  waste  the  joy? 
Enough  thou  never  yet  wast  known  to  say 
Tho'  millions  die  the  vassals  of  thy  sway. 
Nor  youth,  nor  science,  nor  the  ties  of  love, 
Nor  aught  on  earth  thy  flinty  heart  can  move. 
The  friend,  the  spouse,  from  his  dire  dart  to  save, 
In  vain  we  ask  the  sovereign  of  the  grave. 
Fair  mourner,  there  see  thy  lov'd  Leonard  laid, 
And  o'er  him  spread  the  deep  impervious  shade; 
Clos'd  are  his  eyes  and  heavy  fetters  keep 
His  senses  bound  in  never-waking  sleep, 
Till  time  shall  cease,  till  many  a  starry  world, 
Shall  fall  from  heav'n,  in  dire  confusion  huiTd; 
Till  Nature  in  her  final  wreck  shall  lie, 
Till  her  last  groan  shall  rend  the  azure  sky  : 

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g      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g 

Not  till  then  his  active  soul  shall  claim, 
His  body,  a  divine  immortal  frame. 

But,  see  the  softly  stealing  tears  apace, 
Pursue  each  other  down  the  mourner's  face ; 
But  cease  thy  tears,  bid  ev'ry  sigh  depart, 
And  cast  the  load  of  anguish  from  thine  heart; 
From  the  cold  shell  of  his  great  soul  arise, 
And  look  beyond,  thou  native  of  the  skies ! 
There  fix  thy  view  where  fleeter  than  the  wind 
Thy  Leonard  mounts,  and  leaves  the  earth  behind. 
Thyself  prepare  to  pass  the  vale  of  night. 
To  join  forever  on  the  hills  of  light; 
To  thine  embrace,  this  joyful  spirit  moves, 
To  thee,  the  partner  of  his  earthly  loves ; 
He  welcomes  thee  to  pleasures  more  refin'd 
And  better  suited  to  th'  immortal  mind. 


<&0ltaitj  of  (Saih 

I   Samuel,    Chapter   XVTI 

Ye  martial  pow'rs,  and  all  ye  tuneful  nine. 
Inspire  my  song,  and  aid  my  high  design. 
The  dreadful  scenes  and  toils  of  war  I  write, 
The  ardent  warriors,  and  the  fields  of  fight: 
You  best  remember,  and  you  best  can  sing 

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og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      «{ 

The  acts  of  heroes  to  the  vocal  string: 
Resume  the  lays  with  which  your  sacred  lyre, 
Did  then  the  poet  and  the  sage  inspire. 

Now  front  to  front  the  armies  were  display'd, 
Here  Israel  rang'd,  and  there  the  foes  array'd; 
The  hosts  on  two  opposing  mountains  stood, 
Thick  as  the  foliage  of  the  waving  wood; 
Between  them  an  extensive  valley  lay, 
O'er  which  the  gleaming  armor  pour'd  the  day, 
When  from  the  camp  of  the  Philistine  foes, 
Dreadful  to  view,  a  mighty  warrior  rose; 
In  the  dire  deeds  of  bleeding  battle  skill'd, 
The  monster  stalks  the  terror  of  the  field. 
From  Gath  he  sprung,  Goliath  was  his  name, 
Of  fierce  deportment,  and  gigantic  frame : 
A  brazen  helmet  on  his  head  was  plac'd, 
A  coat  of  mail  his  form  terrific  grac'd, 
The  greaves  his  legs,  the  targe  his  shoulders  prest 
Dreadful  in  arms  high-tow'ring  o'er  the  rest 
A  spear  he  proudly  wav'd,  whose  iron  head, 
Strange  to  relate,  six  hundred  shekels  weigh'd; 
He  strode  along  and  shook  the  ample  field, 
While  Phoebus  blaz'd  refulgent  on  his  shield : 
Through  Jacob's  race  a  chilling  horror  ran, 
When  thus  the  huge,  enormous  chief  began: 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g» 

''Say,  what  the  cause  that  in  this  proud  array 
"You  set  your  battle  in  the  face  of  day? 
"One  hero  find  in  all  your  vaunting  train, 
"Then  see  who  loses,  and  who  wins  the  plain; 
"For  he  who  wins,  in  triumph  may  demand 
"Perpetual  service  from  the  vanquished  land: 
"Your  armies  I  defy,  your  force  despise, 
"By  far  inferior  in  Philistia's  eyes: 
"Produce  a  man,  and  let  us  try  the  fight, 
"Decide  the  contest,  and  the  victor's  right." 

Thus  challeng'd  he;  all  Israel  stood  amaz'd, 
And  ev'ry  chief  in  consternation  gaz'd; 
But  Jesse's  son  in  youthful  bloom  appears, 
And  warlike  courage  far  beyond  his  years: 
He  left  the  folds,  he  left  the  flow'ry  meads, 
And  soft  recesses  of  the  sylvan  shades. 
Now  Israel's  monarch,  and  his  troops  arise, 
With  peals  of  shouts  ascending  to  the  skies; 
In  El  all's  vale  the  scene  of  combat  lies, 

When  the  fair  morning  flushed  with  Orient  red, 
What  David's  sire  enjoin'd  the  son  obey'd, 
And  swift  of  foot  towards  the  trench  he  came, 
Where  glow'd  each  bosom  with  the  martial  flame,- 
He  leaves  his  carriage  to  another's  care, 
And  runs  to  greet  his  brethren  of  the  war, 

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While  yet  they  spake  the  giant-chief  arose, 
Repeats  the  challenge,  and  insults  his  foes : 
Struck  with  the  sound,  and  trembling  at  the  view, 
Affrighted  Israel  from  its  post  withdrew. 
•"Observe  ye  this  tremendous  foe,  they  cry'd, 
'"Who  in  proud  vaunts  our  armies  hath  defy'd : 
""Whoever  lays  him  prostrate  on  the  plain, 
""Freedom  in  Israel  for  his  house  shall  gain; 
•"And  on  him  wealth  unknown  the  king  will  pour, 
•"And  give  his  royal  daughter  for  his  dow'r." 

Then  Jesse's  youngest  hope :  "My  brethren  say, 
"What  shall  be  done  for  him  who  takes  away 
"Reproach  from  Jacob,  who  destroys  the  chief, 
"And  puts  a  period  to  his  country's  grief. 
"He  vaunts  the  honours  of  his  arms  abroad, 
"And  scorns  the  armies  of  the  living  God." 

Thus  spoke  the  youth,  th'  attentive  people  ey'd 
The  wond'rous  hero,  and  again  reply'd : 
'"Such  the  rewards  our  monarch  will  bestow, 
•"On  him  who  conquers,  and  destroys  his  foe." 

Eliab  heard,  and  kindled  into  ire 
To  hear  his  shepherd  brother  thus  inquire, 
And  thus  begun :    "What  errand  brought  thee  ?  say 
-"Who  keeps  thy  flock?  or  does  it  go  astray? 
•"I  know  the  base  ambition  of  thine  heart, 
.back  in  safety  from  the  field  depart," 

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og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      ^ 

Eliab  thus  to  Jesse's  youngest  heir, 
Express'd  his  wrath  in  accents  most  severe. 
When  to  his  brother  mildly  he  reply'd, 
"What  have  I  done  or  what  the  cause  to  chide?" 

The  words  were  told  before  the  king,  who  sent 
For  the  young  hero  to  his  royal  tent: 
Before  the  monarch  dauntless  he  began, 
"For  this  Philistine  fail  no  heart  of  man: 
"I'll  take  the  vale,  and  with  the  giant  fight: 
""I  dread  not  all  his  boasts,  nor  all  his  might." 
When  thus  the  king:    "Darst  thou  a  stripling  go, 
"And  venture  combat  with  so  great  a  foe? 
"Who  all  his  days  has  been  inurd  to  fight, 
"And  made  its  deeds  his  study  and  delight: 
"Battles  and  bloodshed  brought  the  monster  forth, 
^'And  clouds  and  whirlwinds  usher'd  in  his  birth." 
When  David  thus:     "I  kept  the  fleecy  care, 
"And  out  there  rush'd  a  liOn  and  a  bear; 
"A  tender  lamb  the  hungry  lion  took, 
"And  with  no  other  weapon  than  my  crook 
"Both  I  pursu'd,  and  chas'd  him  o'er  the  field, 
"The  prey  deliver'd,  and  the  felon  kill'd: 
"As  thus  the  lion  and  the  bear  I  slew, 
"So  shall  Goliath  fall,  and  all  his  crew : 
"The  God,  who  sav'd  me  from  these  beasts  of  prey, 
"By  me  this  monster  in  the  dust  shall  lay." 

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°g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <£ 

So  David  spoke:  "The  wond'ring  king  reply 'd; 
"Go  thou  with  heav'n  and  victory  on  thy  side; 
"This  coat  of  mail,  this  sword  gird  on,"  he  said, 
And  plac'd  a  mighty  helmet  on  his  head : 
The  coat,  the  sword,  the  helm  he  laid  aside, 
Nor  chose  to  venture  with  those  arms  untry'd, 
Then  took  his  staff,  and  to  the  neighb'ring  brook 
Instant  he  ran,  and  thence  five  pebbles  took, 
Mean  time  descended  to  Philistia's  son 
A  radiant  cherub,  and  he  thus  begun: 
"Goliath,  well  thou  know'st  thou  hast  defy'd : 
"Yon  Hebrew  armies,  and  their  God  deny'd: 
"Rebellious  wretch!  audacious  worm!  forbear, 
"Nor  tempt  the  vengeance  of  their  God  too  far : 
"Them,  who  with  his  Omnipotence  contend, 
"No  eye  shall  pity,  and  no  arm  defend : 
"Proud  as  thou  art,  in  short  liv'd  glory  great, 
"I  come  to  tell  thee  thine  approaching  fate. 
"Regard  my  words.     The  judge  of  all  the  gods, 
"Beneath  whose  steps  the  tow'ring  mountain  nods, 
"Will  give  thine  armies  to  the  savage  brood, 
"That  cut  the  liquid  air  or  range  the  wood. 
"Thee,  too  a  well-aim'd  pebble  shall  destroy, 
"And  thou  shalt  perish  by  a  beardless  boy : 

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"Such  is  the  mandate  from  the  realms  above, 
"And  should  I  try  the  vengeance  to  remove 
"Myself  a  rebel  to  my  king  would  prove. 
"Goliath  say,  shall  grace  to  him  be  shown, 
"Who    dares    heav'ns    Monarch,    and    insults    his 
throne?" 

"Your  words  are  lost  on  me,"  the  giant  cries, 
While  fear  and  wrath  contended  in  his  eyes, 
When  thus  the  messenger  from  heav'n  replies : 
"Provoke  no  more  Jehovah's  awful  hand 
"To  hurl  its  vengeance  on  thy  guilty  land : 
"He  grasps  the  thunder,  and,  he  wings  the  storm,. 
"Servants  their  sov'reign's  orders  to  perform." 
The  angel  spoke,  and  turn'd  his  eyes  away, 
Adding  new  radiance  to  the  rising  day. 

Now  David  comes :  The  fatal  stones  demand 
His  left,  the  staff  engag'd  his  better  hand : 
The  giant  mov'd,  and  from  his  tow'ring  height 
Survey'd  the  stripling,  and  disdain'd  the  fight, 
And  thus  began :    "Am  I  a  dog  with  thee  ? 
"Bring'st  thou  no  armour,  but  a  staff  to  me? 
"The  gods  on  thee  their  vollied  curses  pour, 
"And  beasts  and  birds  of  prey  thy  flesh  devour." 

David  undaunted  thus,  "Thy  spear  and  shield 
"Shall   no  pretection  to  thy  body  yield: 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      {§> 

''Jehovah's  name     ...     no  other  arms  I  bear, 
"I  ask  no  other  in  this  glorious  war. 
"To-day  the  Lord  of  Hosts  to  me  will  give 
"Vict'ry,  to-day  thy  doom  thou  shalt  receive ; 
'The  fate  you  threaten  shall  your  own  become, 
"And  beasts  shall  be  your  animated  tomb, 
"That  all  the  earth's  inhabitants  may  know 
"That  there's  a  God,  who  governs  all  below : 
"This  great  assembly  too  shall  witness  stand, 
"That  needs  nor  sword,  nor  spear,  th'  Almighty's 

hand : 

'The  battle  his,  the  conquest  he  bestows, 
"And  to  our  pow'r  consigns  our  hated  foes." 

Thus  David  spoke ;  Goliath  heard  and  came 
To  meet  the  hero  in  the  field  of  fame. 
Ah!  fatal  meeting  to  thy  troops  and  thee, 
But  thou  wast  deaf  to  the  divine  decree: 
Young  David  meets  thee,  meets  thee  not  in  vain; 
Tis  thine  to  perish  on  th'  ensanguin'd  plain. 

And  now  the  youth  the  forceful  pebble  flung, 
Philistia  trembled  as  it  whizz'd  along: 
In  his  dread  forehead,  where  the  helmet  ends, 
Just  o'er  the  brows  the  well-aim'd  stone  descends, 
It  pierc'd  the  skull,  and  shatter'd  all  the  brain, 
Prone  on  his  face  he  tumbled  to  the  plain : 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

Goliath's  fall  no  smaller  terror  yields 

Than  riving  thunders  in  aerial  fields : 

The  soul  still  ling'red  in  its  lov'd  abode, 

Till  conq'ring  David  o'er  the  giant  strode: 

Goliath's  sword  then  laid  its  master  dead, 

And  from  the  body  hew'd  the  ghastly  head; 

The  blood  in  gushing  torrents  drench'd  the  plains. 

The  soul  found  passage  through  the  spouting  veins. 

And  now  aloud  the  illustrious  victor  said, 
"Where  are  your  boastings  now  your  champion's 

dead?" 

Scarce  had  he  spoke  when  the  Philistines  fled : 
But  fled  in  vain;  the  conqu'ror  swift  pursu'd : 
What  scenes  of  slaughter !  and  what  seas  of  blood ! 
There  Saul   thy   thousands   grasp'd   th'   impurpled 

sand 

In  pangs  of  death  the  conquest  of  thine  hand; 
And  David  there  were  thy  ten  thousands  laid : 
Thus  Israel's  damsels  musically  play'd. 

Near  Gath  and  Ekron  many  an  hero  lay, 
Breath'd  out  their  souls,  and  curs'd  the  light  of  day; 
Their  fury  quench'd  by  death,  no  longer  burns, 
And  David  with  Goliath's  head  returns, 
To  Salem  brought,  but  in  his  tent  he  plac'd 
The  load  of  armour  which  the  giant  grac'd, 

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og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      & 

His  monarch  saw  him  coming  from  the  war, 
And  thus  demanded  of  the  son  of  Ner. 
"Say,  who  is  this  amazing  youth?"  he  cry'd, 
When  thus  the  leader  of  the  host  reply'd: 
"As  lives  thy  soul  I  know  not  whence  he  sprung, 
"So  great  in  prowess  though  in  years  so  young:" 
'"Inquire  whose  son  is  he,"  the  sov'reign  said, 
"Before  whose  conq'ring  arm  Philistia  fled." 
Before  the  king  behold  the  stripling  stand, 
Goliath's  head   depending  from  his  hand: 
To  him  the  king:    "Say  of  what  martial  line 
"Art  thou,  young  hero,  and  what  sire  was  thine?" 
He  humbly  thus :  "The  son  of  Jesse  I : 
"I  came  the  glories  of  the  field  to  try, 
"Small  is  my  tribe,  but  valiant  in  the  fight; 
"Small  is  my  city,  but  thy  royal  right." 
"Then  take  the  promis'd  gifts,"  the  monarch  cry'd, 
Conferring  riches  and  the  royal  bride; 
"Knit  to  my  soul  for  ever  thou  remain 
""With  me,  nor  quit  my  regal  roof  again." 


30 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


0tt  tlje  Wnrks  0f 


Arise,  my  soul,  on  wings  enraptur'd,  rise 

To  praise  the  monarch  of  the  earth  and  skies, 

Whose  goodness  and  beneficence  appear 

As  round  its  center  moves  the  rolling  year, 

Or  when  the  morning  glows  with  rosy  charms, 

Or  the  sun  slumbers  in  the  ocean's  arms; 

Of  light  divine  be  a  rich  portion  lent 

To  guide  my  soul,  and  favour  my  intent. 

Celestial  muse,  my  arduous  flight  sustain, 

And  raise  my  mind  to  a  seraphic  strain ! 

Ador'd  for  ever  be  the  God  unseen, 
Which  round  the  sun  revolves  this  vast  machine, 
Though  to  his  eye  its  mass  a  point  appears : 
Ador'd  the  God  that  whirls  surrounding  spheres, 
Which  first  ordain' d  that  mighty  Sol  should  reign 
The  peerless  monarch  of  th'  ethereal  train ; 
Of  miles  twice  forty  millions  in  his  height, 
And  yet  his  radiance  dazzles  mortal  sight 
So  far  beneath — from  him  th'  extended  earth 
Vigor  derives,  and  ev'ry  flow'ry  birth : 
Vast  through  her  orb  she  moves  with  easy  grare 
Around  her  Phoebus  in  unbounded  space ; 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      §• 

True  to  her  course  th'  impetuous  storm  derides, 
Triumphant  o'er  the  winds  and  surging  tides. 

Almighty,  in  these  wond'rous  works  of  thine, 
What  Poiv'r,  what   Wisdom,  and  what  Goodness 

shine  ? 

And  are  thy  wonders,  Lord,  by  men  explored, 
And  yet  creating  glory  unador'd ! 

Creation  smiles  in  various  beauty  gay, 
While  day  to  night,  and  night  succeeds  to  day ; 
That  Wisdom  which  attends  Jehovah's  ways, 
Shines  most  conspicuous  in  the  solar  rays; 
Without  them,  destitute  of  heat  and  light, 
This  world  would  be  the  reign  of  endless  night; 
In  their  excess  how  would  our  race  complain, 
Abhoring  life!  how  hate  its  lengthened  chain! 
From  air  adust  what  num'rous  ills  would  rise? 
What  dire  contagion  taint  the  burning  skies? 
What  pestilential  vapours,  fraught  with  death, 
Would  rise,  and  overspread  the  lands  beneath? 

Hail  smiling:  morn,  that  from  the  Orient  main 
Ascending  dost  adorn  the  heav'nly  plain! 
So  rich,  so  various  are  thy  beauteous  dies, 
That  spread  through  all  the  circuit  of  the  skies, 
That,  full  of  thee,  my  soul  in  rapture  soars, 
And  thy  great  God,  the  cause  of  all  adores. 

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The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


O'er  beings  infinite  his  love  extends, 
His  Wisdom  rules  them,  and  his  Pow'r  defends. 
When  tasks  diurnal  tire  the  human  frame, 
The  spirits  faint,  and  dim  the  vital  flame, 
Then  too  that  ever  active  bounty  shines, 
Which  not  infinity  of  space  confines. 
The  sable  veil,  that  Night  in  silence  draws, 
Conceals  effects,  but  shows  th'  Almighty  Cause; 
Night  seals  in  sleep  the  wide  creation  fair. 
And  all  is  peaceful  but  the  brow  of  care. 
Again,  gay  Phoebus,  as  the  day  before, 
Wakes  ev'ry  eye,  but  what  shall  wake  no  more;. 
Again  the  face  of  nature  is  renew'd, 
Which  still  appears  harmonious,  fair,  and  good. 
May  grateful  strains  salute  the  smiling  morn, 
Before  its  beams  the  eastern  hill  adorn! 

Shall  day  to  day,  and  night  to  night,  conspire 
To  show  the  goodness  of  the  Almighty  Sire? 
This  mental  voice  shall  man  regardless  hear,. 
And  never,  never  raise  the  filial  pray'r? 
To-day,  O  hearken,  nor  your  folly  mourn 
For  time  misspent,  that  never  will  return. 

But  see  the  sons  of  vegetation  rise, 
And  spread  their  leafy  banners  to  the  skies. 
All-wise  Almighty  Providence  do  we  trace 
In  trees,  and  plants,  and  all  the  flow'ry  race ; 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <S» 

As  clear  as  in  the  nobler  frame  of  man, 
All  lovely  copies  of  the  Maker's  plan. 
The  pow'r  the  same  that  forms  a  ray  of  light, 
That  call'd  creation  from  eternal  night. 
"Let  there  be  light,"  he  said ;  from  his  profound 
Old  Chaos  heard,  and  trembled  at  the  sound : 
Swift  as  the  word,  inspir'd  by  pow'r  divine, 
Behold  the  light  around  its  Maker  shine, 
The  first  fair  product  of  th'  omnific  God 
And  now  through  all  his  works  diffus'd  abroad. 
As  reason's  pow'rs  by  day  our  God  disclose, 
So  we  may  trace  him  in  the  night's  repose: 
Say  what  is  sleep  ?  and  dreams  how  passing  strange ! 
When  action  ceases,  and  ideas  range 
Licentious  and  unbounded  o'er  the  plains, 
Where  Fancy's  queen  in  giddy  triumph  reigns. 
Hear  in  soft  strains  the  dreaming  lover  sigh 
To  a  kind  fair,  or  rave  in  jealousy; 
•On  pleasure  now,  and  now  on  vengeance  bent, 
The  lab' ring  passions  struggle  for  a  vent. 
What  pow'r,  O  man !  thy  reason  then  restores, 
So  long  suspended  in  nocturnal  hours? 
What  secret  hand  returns  the  mental  train, 
And  gives  improv'd  thine  active  pow'rs  again? 
From  thee,  O  man,  what  gratitude  should  rise 

34 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      «Q> 

And,  when  from  balmy  sleep  thou  op'st  thine  eyes, 
Let  thy  first  thoughts  be  praises  to  the  skies. 
How  merciful  our  God  who  thus  imparts 
Overflowing  tides  of  joy  to  human  hearts, 
When  wants  and  woes  might  be  our  righteous  lot, 
Our  God   forgetting,  by  our  God   forgot! 

Among  the  mental  pow'rs  a  question  rose, 
"What  most  the  image  of  th'  Eternal  shows?" 
When  thus  to  Reason  (so  let  Fancy  rove) 
Her  great  companion  spoke  immortal  Love. 

"Say  mighty  pow'r,  how  long  shall  strife  prevail, 
"And  with  its  murmurs  load  the  whispering  gale? 
"Refer  the  cause  to  Recollection's  shrine, 
"Who  loud  proclaims  my  origin  divine, 
"The  cause  whence  heav'n  and  earth  began  to  be, 
"And  is  not  man  immortaliz'd  by  me? 
"Reason  let  this  most  causeless  strife  subside." 

Thus  Love  pronounced,  and  Reason  thus  repli'd. 

"Thy  birth  celestial  queen!  'tis  mine  to  own. 
"In  thee  resplendent  is  the  Godhead  shown; 
"Thy  words  persuade,  my  soul  enraptur'd  feels 
"Resistless  beauty  which  thy  smile  reveals." 
Ardent  she  spoke,  and,  kindling  at  her  charms, 
She  clasp'd  the  blooming  goddess  in  her  arms. 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <££ 

Infinite  Love  where'er  we  turn  our  eyes 
Appears:  this  ev'ry  creature's  wants  supplies; 
This  most  is  heard  in  Nature's  constant  voice, 
This  makes  the  morn,  and  this  the  eve  rejoice; 
This  bids  the  fost'ring  rains  and  dews  descend 
To  nourish  all,  to  serve  one  gen'ral  end, 
The  good  of  man :  yet  man  ungrateful  pays 
But  little  homage,  and  but  little  praise. 
To  him,  whose  works  array'd  with  mercy  shine, 
What  songs  should  rise,  how  constant,  how  divine! 

3Jo  a  ffiaig  mt  tit?  iratli  nf  GHfrw  %r  fatuuta 

We  trace  the  pow'r  of  Death  from  tomb  to  tomb, 
And  his  are  all  the  ages  yet  to  come. 
'Tis  his  to  call  the  planets  from  on  high. 
To  blacken  Phoebus,  and  dissolve  the  sky; 
His  too,  when  all  in  his  dark  realms  are  hurl'd, 
From  its  firm  base  to  shake  the  solid  world; 
His  fatal  sceptre  rules  the  spacious  whole, 
And  trembling  nature  rocks  from  pole  to  pole. 

Awful  he  moves,  and  wide  his  wings  are  spread  : 
Behold  thy  brother  number d  with  the  dead! 
.From  bondage   freed,  the  exulting  spirit  flics 
Beyond  Olympus,  and  these  starry  skies. 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <3> 

Lost  in  our  woe  for  thee,  blest  shade,  we  mourn 
In  vain ;  to  earth  thou  never  must  return. 
Thy  sisters,  too,  fair  mourner,  feel  the  dart 
Of  Death,  and  with  fresh  torture  rend  thine  h(.art. 
Weep  not  for  them,  who  with  thine  happy  mind 
To  rise  with  them,  and  leave  the  world  behind. 

As  a  young  plant  by  hurricanes  up  torn, 
So  near  its  parent  lies  the  newly  born — 
But  'midst  the  bright  ethereal  train  behold 
It  shines  superior  on  a  throne  of  gold : 
Then,  mourner,  cease;  let  hope  thy  tears  restrain, 
Smile  on  the  tomb,  and  sooth  the  raging  pain. 
On  yon  blest  regions  fix  thy  longing  view. 
Mindless  of  sublunary  scenes  below ; 
Ascend  the  sacred  mount,  in  thought  arise, 
And  seek  substantial  and  immortal  joys; 
Where  hope  receives,  where  faith  to  vision  springs, 
And   raptur'd  seraphs  tune  tlr   immortal  strings 
To  strains  ecstatic.     Thou  the  chorus  join, 
And  to  thy  father  tune  the  praise  divine. 


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The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


a  Clllrrutimau  on  thr  Qrath  of  Sis 


When  contemplation  finds  her  sacred  spring, 
Where  heav'nly  music  makes  the  arches  ring. 
Where  virtue  reigns  unsulli'd  and  divine, 
Where  wisdom  throned,  and  all  the  graces  shine, 
There  sits  thy  spouse  amidst  the  radiant  throng, 
While  thy  dear  mate  to  flesh  no  more  confin'd, 
There  choirs  angelic  shout  her  welcome  round, 
With  perfect  bliss  and  peerless  glory  crown'd. 
While  thy  dear  mate  to  flesh  no  more  confin'd, 
Exults  a  blest,  an  heav'n  ascended  mind, 
Say  in  thy  breast  shall  floods  of  sorrow  rise? 
Say  shall  its  torrents  overwhelm  thine   eyes? 
Amid  the  seats  of  heav'n  a  place  is  free, 
And  angels  open  their  bright  ranks  for  thee; 
For  thee  they  wait  and  with  expectant  eye 
Thy  spouse  leans  downward  from  th'  empyreal  sky 
"O  come  away,"  her  longing  spirit  cries, 
"And  share  with  me  the  raptures  of  the  skies. 
"Our  bliss  divine  to  mortals  is  unknown; 
"Immortal  life  and  glory  are  our  own. 
"There,  too,  may  the  dear  pledges  of  our  love 
"Arrive,  and  taste  with  us  the  joys  above; 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      Q 

"Attune  the  harp  to  more  than  mortal  lays, 
"And  join  with  us  the  tribute  of  their  praise 
"To  him,  who  dy'd  stern  justice  to  atone, 
"And  make  eternal  glory  all  our  own. 
"He  in  his  death  slew  ours,  and,  as  he  rose, 
"He  crush'd  the  dire  dominion  of  'our  foes ; 
"Vain  were  their  hopes  to  put  the  God  to  flight, 
"Chain  us  to  hell,  and  bar  the  gates  of  light." 

She  spoke  and  turn'd  from  mortal  scenes  her  eyes, 
Which  beamed  celestial  radiance  o'er  the  skies. 

Then  thou,  dear  man,  no  more  with  grief  retire, 
Let  grief  no  longer  damp  devotion's  fire, 
But  rise  sublime,  to  equal  bliss  aspire, 
Thy  sighs  no  more  be  waf  ted  by  the  wind 
No  more  complain,  but  be  to  heav'n  resign'd, 
'Twas  thine  t'  unfold  the  oracles  divine, 
To  soothe  our  woes  the  task  was  also  thine ; 
Now  sorrow  is  incumbent  on  thy  heart, 
Permit  the  muse  a  cordial  to  impart; 
Who  can  to  thee  their  tend' rest  aid  refuse? 
To  dry  thy  tears  how  longs  the  heav'nly  muse ! 


39 


<£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g° 
An  ifgmtt  tn  tty  iK0rmng 

Attend  my  lays,  ye  ever  honoured  nine, 
Assist  my  labours,  and  my  strains  refine; 
In  smoothest  numbers  pour  the  notes  along, 
For  bright  Aurora  now  demands  my  song. 

Aurora  hail,  and  all  the  thousand  dies, 
Which  deck  thy  progress  through  the  vaulted  skies ; 
The  morn  awakes,  and  wide  extends  her  rays, 
On  ev'ry  leaf  the  gentle  zephyr  plays; 
Harmonious  lays  the  feather'd  race  resume, 
Dart  the  bright  eye,  and  shake  the  painted  plume. 

Ye  shady  groves,  your  verdant  gloom  display 
To  shield  your  poet  from  the  burning  day : 
Calliope  awake  the  sacred  lyre, 
While  thy  fair  sisters  fan  the  pleasing  fire : 
The  bow'rs,  the  gales,  the  variegated  skies 
In  all  their  pleasures  in  my  bosom  rise. 

See  in  the  east  th'  illustrious  king  of  day! 
His  rising  radiance  drives  the  shades  away — 
But  oh !  I  feel  his  fervid  leaves  too  strong, 
And  scarce  begun,  concludes  th'  abortive  song. 


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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      § 
An  %mn  10  tit?  funning 

Soon  as  the  sun  forsook  the  eastern  main 
The  pealing  thunder  shook  the  heav'nly  plain ; 
Majestic  grandeur!     From  the  zephyr's  wing, 
Exhales  the  incense  of  the  blooming  spring, 
Soft  purl  the  streams,  the  birds  renew  their  notes, 
And  through  the  air  their  mingled  music  floats. 

Through  all  the  heav'ns  what  beauteous  dies  are 

spread ! 

But  the  west  glories  in  the  deepest  red : 
So  may  our  breasts  with  every  virtue  glow, 
The  living  temples  of  our  God  below ! 

FilFd  with  the  praise  of  him  who  gives  the  light, 
And  draws  the  sable  curtains  of  the  night, 
Let  placid  slumbers  soothe  each  weary  mind, 
At  morn  to  wake  more  heav'nly,  more  refin'd ; 
So  shall  the  labors  of  the  day  begin 
More  pure,  more  guarded  from  the  snares  of  sin. 

Night's  leaden  sceptre  seals  my  drowsy  eyes. 
Then  cease,  my  song,  till  fair  Aurora  rise. 


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The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

bmt;  1-B 

Say,  heav'nly  muse,  what  king,  or  mighty  God, 
That  moves  sublime  from  Idumea's  road? 
In  Bozratis  dies,  with  martial  glories  join'd, 
His  purple  vesture  waves  upon  the  wind. 
Why  thus  enrob'd  delights  he  to  appear 
In  the  dread  image  of  the  Potv'r  of  war? 

Compress'd    in   wrath    the     swelling    wine-press 

groaned, 
It  bled,  and  pour'd  the  gushing  purple  round. 

"Mine  was  the  act,"  th'  Almighty  Saviour  said, 
And  shook  the  dazzling  glories  of  his  head, 
"When  all  forsook  I  trod  the  press  alone, 
"And  conquer'd  by  omnipotence  of  my  own; 
"For  man's  release  sustained  the  pond'rous  load,, 
"For  man  the  wrath  of  an  immortal  God : 
"To  execute  th'  Eternal's  dread  command 
"My  soul  I  sacrific'd  with  willing  hand; 
"Sinless  I  stood  before  the  avenging  frown, 
"Atoning  thus  for  vices  not  my  own." 
His  eye  the  ample  field  of  battle  round 
Survey 'd,  but  no  created  succours  found ; 
His  own  omnipotence  sustained  the  fight, 
His  vengeance  sunk  the  haughty  foes  in  night; 

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The  Poems  of  PhUlis  Wheatley 


Beneath  his  feet  the  prostrate  troops  were  spread, 
And  round  him  lay  the  dying,  and  the  dead. 

Great  God,   what  lightn'ing  flashes   from  thine 

eyes? 
What  pow'r  withstands  if  thou  indignant  rise? 

Against  thy  Zion  though  her  foes  may  rage, 
And  all  their  cunning,  all  their  strength  engage,. 
Yet  she  serenely  on  thy  bosom  lies, 
Smiles  at  their  arts,  and  all  their  force  defies. 


Mneme  begin.     Inspire,  ye  sacred  nine, 
Your  vent'rous  Afric  in  her  great  design. 
Mneme,  immortal  pow'r,  I  trace  thy  spring : 
Assist  my  strains,  while  I  thy  glories  sing: 
The  acts  of  long  departed  years,  by  thee 
Recover'd,  in  due  order  rang'd  we  see : 
Thy  pow'r  the  long- forgotten  calls  from  night, 
That  sweetly  plays  before  the  fancy's  sight. 

Mneme  in  our  nocturnal  vision  pours 
The  ample  treasure  of  her  secret  stores; 
Swift  from  above  she  wings  her  silent  flight 
Through  Phoebe's  realms,  fair  regent  of  the  night; 

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og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <gj» 

And,  in  her  pomp  of  images  display'd, 

To  the  high-raptur'd  poet  gives  her  aid, 

Through  the  unbounded  regions  of  the  mind, 

Diffusing  light  celestial  and  refin'd. 

The  heav'nly  phantom  paints  the  actions  done 

By  ev'ry  tribe  beneath  the  rolling  sun. 

Mneme,  enthroned  within  the  human  breast, 
Has  vice  condemn' d  and  ev'ry  virtue  blest. 
How  sweet  the  sound  when  we  her  plaudit  hear? 
Sweeter  than  music  to  the  ravish'd  ear, 
Sweeter   than   Maro's  entertaining   strains 
Resounding   through    the    groves,    and    hills,    and 

plains. 

But  how  is  Mneme  dreaded  by  the  race, 
Who  scorn  her  warnings  and  despise  her  grace? 
By  her  unveil' d  each  horrid  crime  appears, 
Her  awful  hand  a  cup  of  wormwood  bears. 
Days,  years  misspent,  O  what  a  hell  of  woe! 
Hers  the  worst  tortures  that  our  souls  can  know. 

Now  eighteen  years  their  destin'd  course  have  run 
In  fast  succession  round  the  central  sun. 
How  did  the  follies  of  that  period  pass 
Unnotic'd,  but  behold  them  writ  in  brass! 
In  Recollection  see  them  fresh  return, 
And  sure  'tis  mine  to  be  asham'd,  and  mourn. 

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&      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <& 

O  Virtue,  smiling  in  immortal  green, 
Do  thou  exert  thy  pow'r,  and  change  the  scene; 
Be  thine  employ  to  guide  my  future  days, 
And  mine  to  pay  the  tribute  of  my  praise. 

Of  Recollection  such  the  pow'r  enthron'd 
In  ev'ry  breast,  and  thus  her  pow'r  is  own'd. 
The  wretch,  who  dar'd  the  vengeance  of  the  skies. 
At  last  awakes  in  horror  and  surprise, 
By  her  alarm'd,  he  sees  impending  fate, 
He  howls  in  anguish  and  repents  too  late. 
But  O !  what  peace,  what  joys  are  her's  t'  impart 
To  ev'ry  holy,  ev'ry  upright  heart! 
Thrice  blest  the  man,  who  in  her  sacred  shrine, 
Feels  himself  sheltered  from  the  wrath  divine! 


©n  Jmagmatunt 

Thy  various  works,  imperial  queen,  we  see, 

How  bright  their  forms !  how  deck'd  with   pomp 

by  thee! 

Thy  wond'rous  acts  in  beauteous  order  stand, 
And  all  attest  how  potent  is  thine  hand. 

From  Helicon's  refulgent  heights  attend 
Ye  sacred  choir,  and  my  attempts  befriend : 

45 


°g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

To  tell  her  glories  with  a  faithful  tongue, 
Ye  blooming  graces,  triumph  in  my  song. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  roving  Fancy  flies, 
Till  some  lov'd  object  strikes  her  wand'ring  eyes. 
Whose  silken  fetters  all  the  senses  bind, 
And  soft  captivity  involves  the  mind. 

Imagination!    who  can  sing  thy  force? 
Or  who  describe  the  swiftness  of  thy  course? 
Soaring  through  air  to  find,  the  bright  abode, 
Th'  empyreal  palace  of  the  thundering  God, 
We  on  thy  pinions  can  surpass  the  wind, 
And  leave  the  rolling  universe  behind : 
From  star  to  star  the  mental  optics  rove, 
Measure  the  skies,  and  range  the  realms  above. 
There  in  one  view  we  grasp  the  mighty  whole, 
Or  with  new  worlds  amaze  th'  unbounded  soul. 

Though  Winter  frowns  to  Fancy's  raptur'd  eyes 
The  fields  may  flourish,  and  gay  scenes  arise; 
The  frozen  deeps  may  break  their  iron  bands, 
And  bid  their  waters  murmur  o'er  the  sands. 
Fair  Flora  may  resume  her  fragrant  reign, 
And  with  her  flow'ry  riches  deck  the  plain; 
Sylvanus  may  diffuse  his  honors  round, 
And  all  the  forest  may  with  leaves  be  crown'd ; 

46 


£>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <S> 

Show'rs  may   descend,   and   dews  their  gems  dis 
close, 
And  nectar  sparkle  on  the  blooming  rose. 

Such  is  thy  pow'r,  nor  are  thine  orders  vain, 
O  thou  the  leader  of  the  mental  train: 
In  full  perfection  all  thy  works  are  wrought, 
And  thine  the  sceptre  o'er  the  realms  of  thought 
Before  thy  throne  the  subject-passions  bow, 
Of  subject-passions  sovereign  ruler  thou; 
At  thy  command  joy  rushes  on  the  heart, 
And  through  the  glowing  veins  the  spirits  dart. 

Fancy  might  now  her  silken  pinions  try 
To  rise  from  earth,  and  sweep  th'  expanse  on  high ; 
From  Tithoris  bed  now  might  Aurora  rise, 
Her  cheeks  all  glowing  with  celestial  dies, 
While  a  pure  stream  of  light  o'erflows  the  skies. 
The  monarch  of  the  day  I  might  behold, 
And  all  the  mountains  tipt  with  radiant  gold, 
But  I  reluctant  leave  the  pleasing  views, 
Which  Fancy  dresses  to  delight  the  Muse; 
Winter  austere  forbids  me  to  aspire, 
And  northern  tempests  damp  the  rising  fire; 
They  chill  the  tides  of  Fancy's  flowing  sea, 
Cease  then,  my  song,  cease  the  unequal  lay. 


47 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


ilj?  Ifcatlt  uf  QL  £.,  An 
JHontfys 


Through  airy  roads  he  wings  his  infant  flight 
To  purer  regions  of  celestial  light; 
Enlarg'd  he  sees  unnumber'd  systems  roll, 
Beneath  him  sees  the  universal  whole, 
Planets  on  planets  run  their  destin'd  round, 
And  circling  wonders  fill  the  vast  profound. 
Th'  ethereal  now,  and  now  th'  empyreal  skies 
With  growing  splendors  strike  his  wond'ring  eyes  : 
The  angels  view  him  with  delight  unknown, 
Press  his  soft  hand,  and  seat  him  on  his  throne; 
Then  smiling  thus:  'To  this  divine  abode, 
"The  seat  of  saints,  of  seraphs,  and  of  God, 
'Thrice  welcome  thou."    The  rapturd  babe  replies, 
'Thanks  to  my  God,  who  snatch'  d  me  to  the  skies* 
"E'er  vice  triumphant  had  possessed  my  heart, 
"E'er  yet  the  tempter  had  beguiFd  my  heart, 
"E'er  yet  on  sin's  base  actions  I  was  bent, 
"E'er  yet  I  knew  temptations  dire  intent  ; 
"E'er  yet  the  lash  for  horrid  crimes  I  felt, 
"E'er  vanity  had  led  my  way  to  guilt, 
"But,  soon  arriv'd  at  my  celestial  goal 
"Full  glories  rush  on  my  expanding  soul." 

48 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


Joyful  he  spoke:   Exulting  cherubs  round 

Clapt  their  glad  wings,  the  heav'nly  vaults  resound^ 

Say,  parents,  why  this  unavailing  moan? 
Why  heave  your  pensive  bosoms  with  the  groan? 
To  Charles,  the  happy  subject  of  my  song, 
A  brighter  world,  and  nobler  strains  belong. 
Say  would  you  tear  him  from  the  realms  above     p 
By  thoughtless  wishes,  and  prepost'rous  love?. 
Doth  his  felicity  increase  your  pain? 
Or  could  you  welcome  to  this  world  again 
This  heir  of  bliss?  with  a  superior  air 
Methinks  he  answers  with  a  smile  severe,, 
"Thrones  and  dominions  cannot  tempt  rne  there/" 

But  still  you  cry,  "Can  we  the  sigh  forbear, 
"And  still  and  still  must  we  not  pour  the  tear? 
"Our  only  hope,  more  dear  than  vital  breath, 
"Twelve  moons  revolv'd,  becomes  they  prey  of 

death ; 

"Delightful  infant,  nightly  visions  give 
"Thee  to  our  arms,  and  we  with  joy  receive, 
"We  fain  would  clasp  the  Phantom  to  our  breastr 
"The  Phantom  flies  and  leaves  the  soul  unblest."' 

To  yon  bright  regions  let  your  faith  ascend,. 
Prepare  to  join  your  dearest  infant  friend 
In  pleasures  without  measure,  without  end.- 

49 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


(Bo  (ttaptaitt  if  -  ft,  0f  tip  H51t| 


Say,  muse  divine,  can  hostile  scenes  delight 
The  warrior's  bosom  in  the  fields  of  fight? 
Lo!  here  the  Christian  and  the  hero  join 
With  mutual  grace  to  form  the  man  divine. 
In  H  -  d,  see  with  pleasure  and  surprise, 
Where  valour  kindles,  and  where  virtue  lies  : 
Go,  hero  brave,  still  grace  the  post  of  fame, 
And  add  new  glories  to  thine  honour'd  name, 
Still  to  the  field,  and  still  to  virtue  true  : 
Britannia  glories  in  no  son  like  you. 


30  tip  Stgtjt  2f0ttorablr  William,  Earl  of  lart- 
m0trtlj,  Ijis  JJlajtfHtg'fi  §>?rr?targ  0f  State 
for  Jf 0rtl|  Ammra, 


Hail,  happy  day,  when,  smiling  like  the  morn, 
Fair  Freedom  rose  New-England  to  acforn: 
The  northern  clime  beneath  her  genial  ray, 
Dartmouth,  congratulates  thy  blissful  sway : 
Elate  with  hope  her  race  no  longer  mourns, 
Each  soul  expands,  each  grateful  bosom  burns, 
While  in  thine  hand  with  pleasure  we  behold 
The  silken  reins,  and  Freedom's  charms  unfold. 

50 


£>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

Long  lost  to  realms  beneath  the  northern  skies 
She  shines  supreme,  while  hated  faction  dies: 
Soon  as  appear'd  the  Goddess  long  desir'd, 
Sick  at  the  view,  she  languish'd  and  expir'd; 
Thus  from  the  splendors  of  the  morning  light 
The  owl  in  sadness  seeks  the  caves  of  night. 

No  more  America  in  mournful  strain 
Of  wrongs,  and  grievance  unredress'd  complain, 
No  longer  shalt  thou  dread  the  iron  chain, 
Which  wanton  Tyranny  with  lawless  hand 
Had  made,  and  which  it  meant  t'  enslave  the  land. 

Should  you,  my  lord,  while  you  pursue  my  song, 
Wonder  from  whence  my  love  of  Freedom  sprung, 
Whence  flow  these  wishes  for  the  common  good, 
By  feeling  hearts  alone  best  understood, 
I,  young  in  life,  by  seeming  cruel  fate 
Was  snatclfd  from  Afric's  fancy'd  happy  seat : 
What  pangs  excruciating  must  molest, 
What  sorrows  labour  in  my  parent's  breast? 
Steel'd  was  the  soul  and  by  no  misery  mov'd 
That  from  a  father  seiz'd  his  babe  belov'd 
Such,  such  my  case.     And  can  I  then  but  pray 
Others  may  never  feel  tyrannic  sway? 

For  favours  past,  great  Sir,  our  thanks  are  due, 
And  thee  we  ask  thy  favours  io  renew, 

51 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <gj> 

Since  in  thy  pow'r,  as  in  thy  will  before, 
To  sooth  the  griefs,  which  thou  dicFst  once  deplore. 
May  heav'nly  grace  the  sacred  sanction  give 
To  all  thy  works,  and  thou  for  ever  live 
Not  only  on  the  wings  of  fleeting  Fame, 
Though  praise  immortal  crowns  the  patriot's  name, 
But  to  conduct  to  heav'n's  refulgent  fane, 
May  fiery  courses  sweep  th'  ethereal  plain, 
And  bear  thee  upwards  to  that  blest  abode, 
Where,  like  the  prophet,  thou  shalt  find  thy  God. 


00   S 

ta 


I. 

While  raging  tempests  shake  the  shore, 
While  Ae'lus'  thunders  round  us  roar, 
And  sweep  impetuous  o'er  the  plain 
Be  still,  O  tyrant  of  the  main  ; 
Nor  let  thy  brow  contracted  frowns  betray, 
While  my  Susannah  skims  the  wat'ry  way.. 

II. 

The  Pow'r  propitious  hears  the  lay, 
The  Mue-ey'd  daughters  of  the  sea 

52 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g° 

With  sweeter  cadence  glide  along. 
And  Tliames  responsive  joins  their  song. 
Pleas'd  with  their  notes  Sol  sheds  benign  his  ray, 
And  double  radiance  decks  the  face  of  day. 

III. 
To  Court  thee  to  Britannia's  arms 

Serene  the  climes  and  mild  the  sky, 
Her  region  boasts   unnumber'd   charms, 

Thy  welcome  smiles  in  ev'ry  eye. 
Thy  promise,  Neptune  keep,  record  my  pray'r, 
Nor  give  my  wishes  to  the  empty  air. 

Boston,  October  10,  1772. 


aiy  utt  if?r  QJnmtng  ta  Jfartlj  Ammra 
With  flier  §>0n,  fnr 
of  it  rr 


Indulgent  muse!  my  grov'ling  mind  inspire, 
And  fill  my  bosom  with  celestial  fire. 

See  from  Jamaica's  fervid  shore  she  moves, 
Like  the  fair  mother  of  the  blooming  loves, 
When  from  above  the  Goddess  with  her  hand 
Fans  the  soft  breeze,  and  lights  upon  the  land; 
Thus  she  on  Neptune's  wat'ry  realm  reclin'd 
Appeared,  and  thus  invites  the  ling'ring  wind. 

53 


«g»      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      { 

"Arise,  ye  winds,  America  explore, 
"Waft  me,  ye  gales,  from  this  malignant  shore; 
"The  Northern  milder  climes  I  long  to  greet, 
"There  hope  that  health  will  my  arrival  meet." 
Soon  as  she  spoke  in  my  ideal  view 
The  winds  assented,  and  the  vessel  flew. 

Madam,  yonr  spouse  bereft  of  wife  and  son, 
In  the  grove's  dark  recesses  pours  his  moan; 
Each  branch,  wide-spreading  to  the  ambient  sky, 
Forgets  its  verdue,  and  submits  to  die. 

From  thence  I  turn,  and  leave  the  sultry  plain, 
And  swift  pursue  thy  passage  o'er  the  main: 
The  ship  arrives  before  the  fav'ring  wind, 
And  makes  the  Philadelphian  port  assign'd, 
Thence  I  attend  you  to  Bostonia's  arms, 
Where  gen'rous  friendship  ev'ry  bosom  warms: 
Thrice  welcome  here!  may  health  revive  again. 
Bloom  on  thy  cheek,  and  bound  in  ev'ry  vein! 
Then  back  return  to  gladden  ev'ry  heart, 
And  give  your  spouse  his  soul's  far  dearer  part, 
Receiv'd  again  with  what  a  sweet  surprise, 
The  tear  in  transport  starting  from  his  eyes! 
While  his  attendant  son  with  blooming  grace 
Springs  to  his  father's  ever  dear  embrace. 
With  shouts  of  joy  Jamaica's  rocks  resound, 
With  shouts  of  joy  the  country  rings  around. 

54 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


Ola  a  EaiHj  0n  2f?r  jRmarhahle  !prmniatt0tt  w 
a  Jjurrtrattr  in  5?0rttj-(Ear0lttta 

Though  thou  did'st  hear  the  tempest  from  afarr 
And  felt'st  the  horrors  of  the  wat'ry  war, 
To  me  unknown,  yet  on  this  peaceful  shore 
Methinks  I  hear  the  storm  tumultuous  roar, 
And  how  stern  Boreas  with  impetuous  hand 
Compell'd  the  Nereids  to  usurp  the  land. 
Reluctant  rose  the  daughters  of  the  main, 
And  slow  ascending  glided  o'er  the  plain, 
Till  Aeolus  in  his  rapid  chariot  drove 
In  gloomy  grandeur  from  the  vault  above  : 
Furious  he  comes.     His  winged  sons  obey 
Their  frantic  sire,  and  madden  all  the  sea. 
The  billows  rave,  the  wind's  fierce  tyrant  roars, 
And  with  his  thund'ring  terrors  shakes  the  shores: 
Broken  by  waves  the  vessel's  frame  is  rent, 
And  strows  with  planks  the  wat'ry  element. 

But  thee,  Maria,  a  kind  Nereid's  shield 
Preserv'd  from  sinking,  and  thy  form  upheld: 
And  sure  some  heav'nly  oracle  design'd 
At  that  dread  crisis  to  instruct  thy  mind 
Things  of  eternal  consequence  to  weigh, 
And  to  thine  heart  just  feelings  to  convey 

55 


<B>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley     A 

Of  things  above,  and  of  the  future  doom, 

And  what  the  births  of  the  dread  world  to  come. 

From  tossine  seas  I  welcome  thee  to  land. 
'"Resign  her,  Nereid/'  'twas  thy  God's  command. 
Thy  spouse  late  buried,  as  thy  fears  conceiv'd, 
Again  returns,  thy  fears  are  all  reliev'd: 
Thy  daughter  blooming  with  superior  grace 
Again  thou  see'st,  again  thine  arms  embrace; 
O  come,  and  joyful  show  thy  spouse  his  heir, 
And  what  the  blessings  of  maternal  care! 


a  iCafog  attb  2j?r  GUfiUtmt,  on  tlj?  ieatlj  of 
ij^r  g>0tt  attfc  SJjrir  1Bro%r 

Overwhelming  sorrow  now  demands  my  song: 
From  death  the  overwhelming  sorrow  sprung. 
What  flowing  tears?  What  hearts  with  grief  op- 

pres't? 

What  sighs  on  sighs  heave  the  fond  parent's  breast? 
The  brother  weeps,  the  hapless  sisters  join 
Th'  increasing  woe,  and  swell  the  crystal  brine; 
The  poor,  who  once  his  gen'rous  bounty  fed, 
Droop,  and  bewail  their  benefactor  dead. 
In  death  the  friend,  the  kind  companion  lies, 
And  in  one  death  what  various  comfort  dies! 

56 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


Th'  unhappy  mother  sees  the  sanguine  rill 
Forget  to  flow,  and  nature's  wheels  stand  still, 
But  see  from  earth  his  spirit  far  remov'd. 
And  know  no  grief  recals  your  best-belov'd : 
He,  upon  pinions  swifter  than  the  wind, 
Has  left  mortality's  sad  scenes  behind 
For  joys  to  this  terrestrial  state  unknown, 
And  glories  richer  than  the  monarch's  crown. 
Of  virtue's  steady  course  the  prize  behold! 
What  blissful  wonders  to  his  mind  unfold! 
But  of  celestial  joys  I  sing  in  vain : 
Attempt  not,  muse,  the  too  advent' rous  strain. 

No  more  in  briny  show'rs,  ye  friends  around, 
Or  bathe  his  clay,  or  waste  them  on  the  ground : 
Still  do  you  weep,  still  wish  for  his  return? 
How  cruel  thus  to  wish,  and  thus  to  mourn? 
No  more  for  him  the  streams  of  sorrow  pour, 
But  haste  to  join  him  on  the  heav'nly  shore, 
On  harps  of  gold  to  tune  immortal  lays, 
And  to  your  God  immortal  anthems  raise. 


57 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

30  a  (Smtleman  anb  Slaig  mt  %  irailj  uf 
Hr0th*r  ani  Sister,  anfc  a  (EljUi  fl 
5famr  0f  Aims,  Agrfc  ©n?  fear 


On  Death's  domain  intent  I  fix  my  eyes, 
Where  human  nature  in  vast  ruin  lies: 
With  pensive  mind  I  search  the  drear  abode, 
Where  the  great  conqu'ror  has  his  spoils  bestow'd; 
There  there  the  offspring  of  six  thousand  years 
In  endless  numbers  to  my  view  appears : 
Whole  kingdoms  in  his  gloomy  den  are  thrust, 
And  nations  mix  with  their  primeval  dust : 
Insatiate  still  he  gluts  the  ample  tomb; 
His  is  the  present,  his  the  age  to  come. 
See  here  a  brother,  here  a  sister  spread, 
And  a  sweet  daughter  mingled  with  the  dead. 

But,  Madam,  let  your  grief  be  laid  aside, 
And  let  the  fountain  of  your  tears  be  dry'd, 
In  vain  they  flow  to  wet  the  dusty  plain, 
Your  sighs  are  wafted  to  the  skies  in  vain, 
Your  pains  they  witness,  but  they  can  no  more, 
While  Death  reigns  tyrant  o'er  this  mortal  shore. 

The  glowing  stars  and  silver  queen  of  light 
At  last  must  perish  in  the  gloom  of  night : 

58 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


Resign  thy  friends  to  that  Almighty  hand, 
Which  gave  them  life,  and  bow  to  his  command; 
Thine  Avis  give  without  a  murm'ring  heart, 
Though  half  thy  soul  be  fated  to  depart. 
To  shining  guards  consign  thine  infant  care 
To  waft  triumphant  through  the  seats  of  air: 
Her  soul  enlarg'd  to  heav'nly  pleasure  springs,. 
She  feeds  on  truth  and  uncreated  things. 
Methinks  I  hear  her  in  the  realms  above, 
And  leaning  forward  with  a  filial  love, 
Invite  you  there  to  share  immortal  bliss 
Unknown,  untasted  in  a  state  like  this. 
With  tow'ring  hopes,   and  growing  grace  arise. 
And  seek  beatitude  beyond  the  skies. 


Ifcatlj  uf  Sr.  ^amitrl  Marshall, 


Through    thickest    glooms     look    back,    immortal 

shade, 

On  that  confusion  which  thy  death  has  made  ; 
Or  from  Olympus'  height  look  down,  and  see 
A  Town  involv'd  in  grief  bereft  of  thee. 
Thy  Lucy  sees  thee  mingle  with  the  dead, 
And  rends  the  graceful  tresses  from  her  head, 

59 


og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

Wild  in  her  woe,  with  grief  unknown  opprest 
Sigh  follows  sigh  deep  heaving  from  her  breast. 

Too  quickly  fled,  ah!  whither  art  thou  gone? 
.Ah!  lost  for  ever  to  thy  wife  and  son! 
The  hapless  child,  thine  only  hope  and  heir, 
dings  round  his  mother's  neck  and  weeps  his  sor 
rows  there. 

The  loss  of  thee  on  Tyler's  soul  returns, 
And  Boston  for  her  dear  physician  mourns. 

When  sickness  call'd  for  Marshall's  healing  hand. 
With  what  compassion  did  his  soul  expand? 
In  him  we  found  the  father  and  the  friend : 
In  life  how  lov'd!  how  honour* d  in  his  end! 

And  must  not  then  our  Aesculapius  stay 
To  bring  his  lingering  infant  into  day? 
The  babe  unborn  in  the  dark  womb  is  tost, 
And  seems  in  anguish  for  its  father  lost. 

Gone  is  Apollo  from  his  house  of  earth, 
But  leaves  the  sweet  memorials  of  his  worth : 
The  common  parent,  whom  we  all  deplore, 
From  yonder  world  unseen  must  come  no  more, 
Yet  'midst  our  woes  immortal  hopes  attend 
The  spouse,  the  sire,  the  universal  friend. 


60 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


®o  n  (SrnJlmatt  mt  Sjte  U0gag?  10  (Srcat  Srtttatt 
for  ih?  2J?r0ttrnj  of  Ijtfi  ijralitj 

While  others  chant  of  gay  Elysian  scenes, 

Of  balmy  zepyhrs,  and  of  flow'ry  plains, 

My  song  more  happy  speaks  a  greater  name, 

Feels  higher  motives  and  a  nobler  flame. 

For  thee,  O  R  -  ,  the  muse  attunes  her  strings,. 

And  mounts  sublime  above  inferior  things. 

I  sing  not  now  of  green  em-bow'  ring  woods, 
I  sing  not  now  the  daughters  of  the  floods, 
I  sing  not  of  the  storms  o'er  ocean  driv'n, 
And  how  they  howl'd  along  the  waste  of  heav'n,. 
But  I  to  R  -  would  paint  the  British  shore, 
And  vast  Atlantic,  not  untry'd  before: 
Thy  life  impair'd  commands  thee  to  arise, 
Leave  these  bleak  regions  and  inclement  skies, 
Where  chilling  winds  return  the  winter  past, 
And  nature  shudders  at  the  furious  blast. 

O  thou  stupendous,  earth-enclosing  main 
Exert  thy  wonders  to  the  world  again  ! 
If  ere  thy  pow'r  prolonged  the  fleeting  breath, 
Turn'd  back  the  shafts,  and  mock'd  the  gates  of" 
death, 

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•£>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <S> 

If  ere  thine  air  dispens'd  an  healing  pow'r, 

Or  snatch'd  the  victim  from  the  fatal  hour, 

This  equal  case  demands  thine  equal  care, 

And  equal  wonders  may  this  patient  share. 

But  unavailing-,  frantic  is  the  dream 

To  hope  thine  aid  without  the  aid  of  him 

Who  gave  thee  birth  and  taught  thee  where  to  flow, 

And  in  thy  waves  his  various  blessings  show. 

May  R return  to  view  his  native  shore 

Replete  with  vigour  not  his  own  before, 
Then  shall  we  see  with  pleasure  and  surprise, 
And  own  thy  work,  great  Ruler  of  the  skies ! 


ti}£  Stftu  Sr.  utymuog  Amorg,  nn 

ifta  ^frowns  0n  Satlg  itetmittftt,  in 

©Ijat  Suttj  ia  ifonmuuftttoii  anh 


To  cultivate  in  ev'ry  noble  mind 

Habitual  grace,  and  sentiments  refin'd, 

Thus  while  you  strive  to  mend  the  human  heart, 

Thus  while  the  heav'nly  precepts  you  impart, 

O  may  each  bosom  catch  the  sacred  fire, 

And  youthful  minds  to  Virtue's  throne  aspire! 

When  God's  eternal  ways  you  set  in  sight 
And  Virtue  shines  in  all  her  native  light, 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <G> 

In  vain  would  Vice  her  works  in  night  conceal, 
For  Wisdom's  eye  pervades  the  sable  veil. 

Artists  may  paint  the  sun's  effulgent  rays, 
But  Amory' s  pen  the  brighter  God  displays : 
While  his  great  works  in  Amory's  pages  shine, 
And  while  he  proves  his  essence  all  divine, 
The  Athiest  sure  no  more  can  boast  aloud 
Of  chance,  or  nature,  and  exclude  the  God; 
As  if  the  clay  without  the  potter's  aid 
Should  rise  in  various  forms,  and  shapes  self-made, 
Or  worlds  above  with  orb  o'er  orb  profound 
Self-mov'd  could  run  the  everlasting  round. 
It  cannot  be — unerring  Wisdom  guides 
With  eye  propitious,  and  o'er-all  presides. 

Still  prosper,  Amory!  still  may'st  thou  receive 
The  warmest  blessings  that  a  muse  can  give, 
And  when  this  transitory  fate  is  o'er, 
When  kingdoms  fall,  and  fleeting  Fame's  no  more, 
May  Amory  triumph  in  immortal  fame, 
A  nobler  title,  and  superior  name! 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 
©n  %  iratlj  of  3.  <!L,  An  3nfant 


No  more  the  flow'ry  scenes  of  pleasure  rise, 
Nor  charming  prospects  greet  the  mental  eyes, 
No  more  with  joy  we  view  that  lovely  face 
Smiling,  disportive,  flush'd  with  ev'ry  grace. 

The  tear  of  sorrow  flows  from  ev'ry  eye, 
Qroans  answer  groans,  and  sighs  to  sighs  reply; 
What  sudden  pangs  shot  thro'  each  aching  heart, 
When,  Death,  thy  messenger  dispatch'd  his  dart? 
Thy  dread  attendants,  all-destroying  Poiv'r, 
Hurried  the  infant  to  his  mortal  hour. 
Could'st  thou  unpitying  close  those  radiant  eyes? 
Or  fail'd  his  artless  beauties  to  surprise? 
Could  not  his  innocence  thy  stroke  controul 
Thy  purpose  shake,  and  soften  all  thy  soul? 

The  blooming  babe,  with  shades  of  Death  o'er- 

spread 

No  more  shall  smile,  no  more  shall  raise  its  head, 
But,  like  a  branch,  that  from  the  tree  is  torn, 
Falls  prostrate,  wither'd,  languid,  and  forlorn. 

"Where  flies  my  James?"    'Tis  thus  I  seem  to- 

hear 

The  parent  ask,  "Some  angel  tell  me  where 
"He  wings  his  passage  thro'  the  yielding  air?" 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      < 

Methinks  a  cherub  bending  from  the  skies 
Observes  the  question,  and  serene  replies, 
"In  heav'n's  high  places  your  babe  appears : 
"Prepare  to  meet  him,  and  dismiss  your  tears." 
Shall  not  th'  intelligence  your  grief  restrain, 
And  turn  the  mournful  to  the  cheerful  strain  ? 
Cease  your  complaints,  suspend  each  rising  sighr 
Cease  to  accuse  the  Ruler  of  the  sky. 
Parents,  no  more  indulge  the  falling  tear : 
Let  Faith  to  heav'n's  refulgent  domes  repair,. 
There  see  your  infant,  like  a  seraph  glow : 
What  charms  celestial  in  his  numbers  flow 
Melodious,  while  the  soul-enchanting  strain 
Dwells  on  his  tongue,  and  fills  th'  ethereal  plain? 
Enough — for  ever  cease  your  murm'ring  breathy 
Not  as  a  foe,  but  friend  converse  with  Death, 
Since  to  the  port  of  happiness  unknown 
He  brought  that  treasure  which  you  call  your  own. 
The  gift  of  heav'n  intrusted  to  your  hand 
Cheerful  resign  at  the  divine  command: 
Not  at  your  bar  must  sov'reign  Wisdom  stand. 


65 


The  ^Poenis  of  Phillis  Wheatley 
An  %mn  ta  ijumatutg 

Sto  3.     .  O 


I. 

JLo!  for  this  dark  terrestrial  ball 
.Forsakes  his  azure-paved  hall 

A  prince  of  heav'nly  birth! 
Divine  Humanity  behold, 
What  wonders  rise,  what  charms  unfold 

At  his  descent  to  earth! 

II. 

The  bosoms  of  the  great  and  good 
With  wonder  and  delight  he  view'd, 

And  fix'd  his  empire  there: 
Him,  close  compressing  to  his  breast, 
The  sire  of  gods  and  men  address'd, 

"My  son,  my  heav'nly  fair! 

III. 

"Descend  to  earth,  there  place  thy  throne  ; 
"To  succor  man's  afflicted  son 

"Each  human  heart  inspire  : 
"To  act  in  bounties  unconfin'd 
'"Enlarge  the  close  contracted  mind, 

"And  SI  it  with  thy  fire." 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

IV. 

Quick  as  the  word,  with  swift  career 
He  wings  his  course  from  star  to  star, 

And   leaves   the   bright   abode. 
The  Virtue  did  his  charms  impart; 
Their  G !  then  thy  raptur'd  heart 

Perceived  the  rushing  God : 

V. 

For  when  thy  pitying  eye  did  see 
The  languid  muse  in  low  degree, 

Then,  then  at  thy  desire 
Descended  the  celestial  nine; 
O'er  me  methought  they  deign'd  to  shine, 

And  deign'd  to  string  my  lyre. 

VI. 

Can  Afric's  muse  forgetful  prove? 
Or  can  such  friendship  fail  to  move 

A  tender  human  heart? 
Immortal  Friendship  laurel-crown'd 
The  smiling  Graces  all  surround 

With  ev'ry  heav'nly  Art. 


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The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


210  ilje  !j0tt0rahUv  3L  2?.,  Sai].,  0u  tlte  Urath 
Hits 


While  deep  you  mourn  beneath  the  cypress-shade 
The  hand  of  Death,  and  your  dear  daughter  laid 
In  dust,  whose  absence  gives  your  tears  to  flow, 
And  racks  your  bosom  with  incessant  woe, 
Let  Recollection  take  a  tender  part, 
Assuage  the  raging  tortures  of  your  heart, 
Still  the  wild  tempest  of  tumultuous  grief, 
And  pour  the  heav'nly  nectar  of  relief  : 
Suspend  the  sigh,  dear  Sir,  and  check  the  groan, 
Divinely  bright  your  daughter's  Virtues  shone  : 
How  free  from  scornful  pride  her  gentle  mind, 
Which  ne'er  its  aid  to  indigence  declined  ! 
Expanding  free,  it  sought  the  means  to  prove 
Unfailing  charity,  unbounded  love! 

She  un  reluctant  flies  to  see  no  more 
Her  dear-lov'd  parents  on  earth's  dusky  shore  : 
Impatient  heav'irs  resplendent  goal  to  gain, 
She  with  swift  progress  cuts  the  azure  plain, 
Where  grief  subsides,  where  changes  are  no  more, 
And  life's  tumultuous  billows  cease  to  roar; 
She  leaves  her  earthly  mansion  for  the  skiesr 
WTiere  new  creations  feast  her  wond'ring  eyes. 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <££ 

To  heav'n's  high  mandate  cheerfully  resign'd 
She  mounts,  and  leaves  the  rolling  globe  behind; 
She,  who  late  wish'd  Leonard  might  return, 
Has  ceas'd  to  languish,  and  forgot  to  mourn; 
To  the  same  high  empyreal  mansions  come, 
She  joins  her  spouse,  and  smiles  upon  the  tomb : 
And  thus  I  hear  her  from  the  realms  above : 
"Lo !   this  the  kinsfdom  of  celestial  love ! 
"Could  ye,  fond  parents,  see  our  present  bliss, 
"How  soon  would  you  each  sigh,  each  fear  dismiss? 
"Amidst  unutter  d  pleasures  whilst  I  play 
"In  the  fair  sunshine  of  celestial  day, 
"As  far  as  grief  affects  an  happy  soul 
"So  far  doth  grief  my  better  mind  controul, 
"To  see  on  earth  my  aged  parents  mourn, 

"And  secret  wish  for  T 1  to  return: 

"Let  brighter  scenes  your  evening  hours  employ : 
"Converse    with    heav'n,    and    taste    the    promis'd 
joy." 


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The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


in  Siatrwa  for  lj?r  (Etjiibmt  §>lain  hg 
Apollo,  3ffr0m  ODrmi'0  iBrtamurphnsrs. 

in,  anh  3Fr0m  a  Him  of 
Painting  0f  4Hr.  Sirljar  h 


Apollo's  wrath  to  man  the  dreadful  spring 
Of  ills  innum'rous,  tuneful  goddess,  sing! 
Thou  who  did'st  first  th'  ideal  pencil  give, 
And  taught'st  the  painter  in  his  works  to  live. 
Inspire  with  glowing  energy  of  thought, 
What  Wilson  painted,  and  what  Ovid  wrote. 
Muse!  lend  thy  aid,  nor  let  me  sue  in  vain, 
Tho'  last  and  meanest  of  the  rhyming  train! 
O  guide  my  pen  in  lofty  strains  to  show 
The  Phrygian  queen,  all  beautiful  in  woe. 

'Twas  where  Maeonia  spreads  her  wide  domain 
Niobe  dwelt,  and  held  her  potent  reign : 
See  in  her  hand  the  regal  sceptre  shine, 
The  wealthy  heir  of  Tantalus  divine, 
He  most  distinguished  by  Dodonean  Jove, 
To  approach  the  tables  of  the  gods  above : 
Her  grandsire  Atlas,  who  with  mighty  pains 
Th'  etherial  axis  on  his  neck  sustains : 
Her  other  grandsire  on  the  throne  on  high 
Rolls  the  loud  pealing  thunder  thro'  the  sky. 

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•£>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g» 

Her    spouse,    Amphion,   who    from    Jove,  too,, 

springs, 
Divinely  taught  to  sweep  the  sounding  strings. 

Seven  sprightly  sons  the  royal  bed  adorn, 
Seven  daughters  beauteous  as  the  op'ning  morn, 
As  when  Aurora  fills  the  ravish' d  sight, 
And  decks  the  orient  realms  with  rosy  light 
From  their  bright  eyes  the  living  splendors  play, 
Nor  can  beholders  bear  the  flashing  ray. 

Wherever,  Niobe,  thou  turn'st  thine  eyes, 
New  beauties  kindle,  and  new  joys  arise ! 
But  thou  had'st  far  the  happier  mother  prov'd, 
If  this  fair  offspring  had  been  less  belov'd: 
What  if  their  charms  exceed  Aurora's  teint. 
No  wrords  could  tell  them,  and  no  pencil  paint. 
Thy  love  too  vehement  hastens  to  destroy 
Each  blooming  maid,  and  each  celestial  boy. 

Now  Manto  comes,  endu'd  with  migjity  skill, 
The  past  to  explore,  the  future  to  reveal. 
Thro'  Thebes'  wide  streets  Tiresia's  daughter  earner 
Divine  Latona's  mandate  to  proclaim : 
The  Theban  maids  to  hear  the  order  ran,- 
When  thus  Mseonia's  prophetess  began: 

"Go,  Thebans!  great  Latona's  will  obey, 
"And  pious  tribute  at  her  altars  pay : 

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<S5>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      < 

"With  rights  divine,  the  goddess  be  implor'd, 
"Nor  be  her  sacred  offspring  unador'd." 
Thus  Manto  spoke.     The  Thebcm  maids  obey, 
And  pious  tribute  to  the  goddess  pay. 
The  rich  perfumes  ascend  in  waving  spires, 
And  altars  blaze  with  consecrated  fires; 
The  fair  assembly  moves  with  graceful  air, 
And  leaves  of  laurel  bind  the  flowing  hair. 

Niobe  comes  with  all  her  royal  race, 
With  charms  unnumber'd,  and  superior  grace : 
Her  Phrygian  garments  of  delightful  hue, 
Inwove  with  gold,  refulgent  to  the  view, 
Beyond  description  beautiful  she  moves 
Like  heav'nly  Venus,  'rnidt  her  smiles  and  loves: 
She  views  around  the  supplicating  train, 
And  shakes  her  graceful  head  with  stern  disdain. 
Proudly  she  turns  around  her  lofty  eyes, 
And  thus  reviles  celestial  deities : 
"What  madness  drives  the  Theban  ladies  fair 
"To  give  their  incense  to  surrounding  air? 
"Say  why  this  new  sprung  deity  preferr'd? 
"Why  vainly  fancy  your  petitions  heard? 
"Or  say  why  Coeris  offspring  is  obey'd, 
"While  to  my  goddessship  no  tribut's  paid? 
"For  me  no  altars  blaze  with  living  fires, 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

"No  bullock  bleeds,  no  frankincense  transpires, 
"Thro'  Cadmus'  palace,  not  unknown  to  fame, 
"And  Phrygian  nations  all  revere  my  name. 
4 'Where'er  I  turn  my  eyes  vast  wealth  I  find, 
"Lo!  here  an  empress  with  a  goddess  join'd. 
"What,  shall  a  Titaness  be  deify'd, 
"To  whom  the  spacious  earth  a  couch  deny'd! 
"Nor  heav'n,  nor  earth,  nor  sea  receiv'd  your  queen, 
"Till  pitying  Delos  took  the  wand'rer  in. 
"Round  me  what  a  large  progeny  is  spread! 
"No  frowns  of  fortune  has  my  soul  to  dread. 
"What  if  indignant  she  decrease  my  train 
"More  than  Latonas  number  will  remain; 
""Then  hence,  ye  Theban  dames,  hence  haste  away, 
"Nor  longer  off'rings  to  Latona  pay? 
"Regard  the  orders  of  Amphion's  spouse, 
"And  take  the  leaves  of  laurels  from  your  brows." 
Niobe  spoke.     The  Theban  maids  obey'd, 
Their  brows  unbound,  and  left  the  rights  unpaid. 
The  angry  goddess  heard,  then  silence  broke 
On  Cynthus  summit,  and  indignant  spoke : 
"Phoebus!  behold,  thy  mother  in  disgrace, 
"Who  to  no  goddess  yields  the  prior  place 
"Except  to  Juno's  self,  who  reigns  above, 
"The  spouse  and  sister  of  the  thund'ring  Jove.  • 

73 


og>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <£f> 

"Niobe,  sprung  from  Tantalus,  inspires 
"Each  Theban  bosom  with  rebellious  fires; 
"No  reason  her  imperious  temper  quells, 
"But  all  her  father  in  her  tongue  rebels; 
"Wrap  her  own  sons  for  her  blaspheming  breath, 
"Apollo!  wrap  them  in  the  shades  of  death." 
Latona  ceas'd,  and  ardent  thus  replies 
The  God,  whose  glory  decks  th'  expanded  skies. 

"Cease  thy  complaints,  mine  be  the  task  assign'd 
"To  punish  pride,  and  scourge  the  rebel  mind." 
This  Phoebe  join'd. — They  wing  their  instant  flight; 
Thebes  trembled  as  th'  immortal  pow'rs  alight. 

With  clouds  incompas'd  glorious  Phoebus  stands ; 
The  feather'd  vengeance  quiv'ring  in  his  hands. 

Near  Cadmus   walls  a  plain  extended  lay, 
Where  Thebes'  young  princes  pass'd  in  sport  the 

day: 

There  the  bold  coursers  bounded  o'er  the  plains,. 
While  the  great  masters  held  the  golden  reins.. 
Ismenus  first  the  racing  pastime  led, 
And  rul'd  the  fury  of  his  flying  steed. 
"Ah,  me,"  he  sudden  cries,  with  shrieking  breath, 
While  in  his  breast  he  feels  the  shaft  of  death; 
He  drops  the  bridle  on  his  courser's  mane, 
Before  his  eyes  in  shadows  swims  the  plain, 

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<£}>      The  Poems  of  PhUlis  Wheatley      Q 

He,  the  first-born  of  great  Amphion's  bed, 
Was  struck  the  first,  first  mingled  with  the  dead. 

Then  did'st  thou,  Sipylus,  the  language  hear 
Of  fate  portentous  whistling  in  the  air : 
As  when  th'  impending  storm  the  sailor  sees 
He  spreads  his  canvas  to  the  fav'ring  breeze, 
So  to  thine  horse  thou  gav'st  the  golden  reins, 
Gav'st  him  to  rush  impetuous  o'er  the  plains : 
But,  ah!  a  fatal  shaft  from  Phoebus'  hand 
Smites  thro'  thy  neck,  and  sinks  thee  on  the  sand. 

Two  other  brothers  were  at  wrestling  found, 
And  in  their  pastime  claspt  each  other  round : 
A  shaft  that  instant  from  Apollo's  hand 
Transfixt   them  both,    and  stretch' d   them   on  the 

sand: 

Together  they  their  cruel  fate  bemoan'd, 
Together  languish'd,  and  together  groan'd : 
Together  too  th'  unbodied  spirits  fled, 
And  sought  the  gloomy  mansions  of  the  dead. 

Alphenor  saw,  and  trembling  at  the  view, 
Beat  his  torn  breast,  that  chang'd  its  snowy  hue. 
He  flies  to  raise  them  in  a  kind  embrace ; 
A  brother's  fondness  triumphs  in  his  face: 
Alphenor  fails  in  this  fraternal  deed, 
A  dart  dispatch'd  him  (so  the  fates  decreed:) 

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£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <^ 

Soon  as  the  arrow  left  the  deadly  wound, 
His  issuing  entrails  smoak'd  upon  the  ground. 

What  woes  on  blooming  Damasichcn  wait! 
His  sighs  portend  his  near  impending  fate. 
Just  where  the  well-made  leg  begins  to  be, 
And  the  soft  sinews  form  the  supple  knee, 
The  youth  sore  wrounded  by  the  Delian  god 
Attempts  t'  extract  the  crime-avenging  rod, 
But,  whilst  he  strives  the  will  of  fate  t'  avert, 
Divine  Apollo  sends  a  second  dart; 
Swift  thro'  his  throat  the  feather 'd  mischief  flies, 
Bereft  of  sense,  he  drops  his  head,  and  dies. 

Young  Illioneus,  the  last  directs  his  pray'r, 
And  cries,  "My  life,  ye  gods  celestial!  spare." 
Apollo  heard,  and  pity  touched  his  heart, 
But  ah !  too  late,  for  he  had  sent  the  dart : 
Thou,  too,  O  Illioneus,  art  doom' d  to  fall, 
The  fates  refuse  that  arrow  to  recal. 

On  the  swift  wings  of  ever-flying  Fame 
To  Cadmus   palace  soon  the  tidings  came: 
Niobe  heard,  and  with  indignant  eyes 
She  thus  express'd  her  anger  and  surprise: 
"Why  is  such  privilege  to  them  allow'd? 
"Why  thus  insulted  by  the  Delian  god? 

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<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g* 

"Dwells  there  such  mischief  in  the  pow'rs  above? 

"Why  sweeps  the  vengeance  of  immortal  Jove?" 

For  now  Amphion  too,  with  'grief  oppress'd 

Had  plung'd  the  deadly  dagger  in  his  breast. 

Niobe  now,  less  haughty  than  before, 

With  lofty  head  directs  her  steps  no  more. 

She,  who  late  told  her  pedigree  divine, 

And  drove  the  Thebans  from  Latona's  shrine, 

How  strangely  chang'd! — yet  beautiful  in  woe, 

She  weeps,  nor  weeps  unpity'd  by  the  foe. 

On  each  pale  corse  the  wretched  mother  spread 

Lay  overwhelm'd  with  grief,  and  kiss'd  her  dead, 

Then  rais'd  her  arms,  and  thus  in  accents  slow, 

"Be  sated  cruel  Goddess!  with  my  woe; 

"If  I've  offended,  let  these  streaming  eyes, 

"And  let  this  sev'nfold  funeral  suffice : 

"Ah   take  this  wretched  life  you  deigned  to  save, 

"With  them  I  too  am  carried  to  the  grave. 

"Rejoice  triumphant,  my  victorious  foe, 

"But  show  the  cause  from  whence  your  triumphs 

flow? 

"Tho'  I  unhappy  mourn  these  children  slain, 
"Yet  greater  numbers  to  my  lot  remain." 
She   ceas'd,    the   bow    string   twang'd    with    awful 

sound, 
Which  struck  with  terror  all  th'  assembly  round, 

77 


•£>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

Except  the  queen,  who  stood  unmov'd  alone, 

By  her  distresses  more  presumptuous  grown. 

Near  the  pale  corses  stood  their  sisters  fair 

In  sable  vestures  and  dishevell'd  hair 

One,  while  she  draws  the  fatal  shaft  away, 

Faints,  falls  and  sickens  at  the  light  of  day. 

To  soothe  her  mother,  lo !  another  flies, 

And  blames  the  fury  of  inclement  skies, 

And,   while  her  words  a  filial  pity  show, 

.Struck   dumb — indignant   seeks   the   shades   below. 

Now  from  the  fatal  place  another  flies, 

Falls  in  her  flight,  and  languishes,  and  dies. 

Another  on  her  sister  drops  in  death; 

A  fifth  in  trembling  terrors  yields  her  breath; 

While  the  sixth  seeks  some  gloomy  cave  in  vain, 

Struck  with  the  rest  and  mingled  with  the  slain. 

One  only  daughter  lives,  and  she  the  least ; 
The  queen  close  clasp'd  the  daughter  to  her  breast: 
'"Ye  heav'nly  pow'rs,  ah  spare  me  one,"  she  cry'd, 
""Ah!  spare  me  one,"  the  vocal  hills  reply'd : 
In  vain  she  begs,  the  fates  her  suit  deny, 
In  her  embrace  she  sees  her  daughter  die. 

*The  queen  of  all  her  family  bereft, 
""Without  or  husband,  son,  or  daughter  left, 

*This  Verse  to  the  End  i*  the  Work  of  another  Hand. 

78 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <g> 

1  'Grew  stupid  at  the  shock.    The  passing  air 
"Made  no  impression  on  her  stiffening  hair. 
•"The  blood  forsook  her  face :  amidst  the  flood 
"Pour'd  from  her  cheeks,  quite  fix'd  her  eye-balls 

stood. 

"Her  tongue,  her  palate  both  obdurate  grew, 
"Her  curdled  veins  no  longer  motion  knew; 
^The  use  of  neck,  and  arms,  and  feet  was  gone, 
"And  ev'n  her  bowels  hard'ned  into  stone : 
"A  marble  statue  now  the  queen  appears, 
"But  from  the  marble  steal  the  silent  tears." 


OJri  &.  fH.,  a  Ifomtg  Afrtran  Ifamtrr,  on 
iiis  Wnrks 


To  show  the  lab'  ring  bosom's  deep  intent, 
And  thought  in  living  characters  to  paint. 
When  first  thy  pencil  did  those  beauties  give, 
And  breathing  figures  learnt  from  thee  to  live, 
How  did  those  prospects  give  my  soul  delight, 
A  new  creation  rushing  on  my  sight? 
Still,  wond'rous  youth!  each  noble  path  pursue, 
On  deathless  glories  fix  thine  ardent  view  : 
Still  may  the  painter's  and  the  poet's  fire 
To  aid  thy  pencil,  and  thy  verse  conspire! 

79 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

And  may  the  charms  of  each  seraphic  theme 
Conduct  thy  footsteps  to  immortal  fame! 
High  to  the  blissful  wonders  of  the  skies 
Elate  thy  soul,  and  raise  thy  wishful  eyes. 
Thrice  happy,  when  exalted  to  survey 
That  splendid  city,  crown'd  with  endless  day, 
Whose  twice  six  gates  on  radiant  hinges  ring : 
Celestial  Salem  blooms  in  endless  spring. 

Calm  and  serene  thy  moments  glide  along, 
And  may  the  muse  inspire  each  future  song ! 
Still,  with  the  sweets  of  contemplation  bless'd, 
May  peace  with  balmy  wings  your  soul  invest ! 
But  when  these  shades  of  time  are  chas'd  away, 
And  darkness  ends  in  everlasting  day, 
On  what  seraphic  pinions  shall  we  move, 
And  view  the  landscapes  in  the  realms  above? 
There  shall  thy  tongue  in  heav'nly  murmurs  fl 
And  there  my  muse  with  heav'nly  transport  glow 
No  more  to  tell  of  Damon  s  tender  sighs, 
Or  rising  radiance  of  Aurora's  eyes, 
For  nobler  themes  demand  a  nobler  strain, 
And  purer  language  on  th'  ethereal  plain. 
Cease,  gentle  muse!  the  solemn  gloom  of  night 
Now  seals  the  fair  creation  from  my  sight. 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


an 
0f  ^ts  ffiabij,  JHarrlj  24,  1773 


All-Conquering  Death!  by  thy  resistless  pow'r, 

Hope's  tow'ring  plumage  falls  to  rise  no  more  I 

Of  scenes  terrestrial  how  the  glories  fly, 

Forget  their  splendors,  and  submit  to  die ! 

Who  ere  escap'd  thee,  but  the  saint*  of  old 

And  the  great  sage,**  whom  fiery  coursers  drew 

To  heav'n's  bright  portals  from  Elishas  view ; 

Wond'ring  he  gaz'd  at  the  refulgent  car, 

Then  snatch'd  the  mantle  floating  on  the  air. 

From  Death  these  only  could  exemption  boast. 

And  without  dying  gain'd  th'  immortal  coast. 

Not  falling  millions  sate  the  tyrant's  mind, 

Nor  can  the  victor's  progress  be  confin'd. 

But    cease    thy    strife    with    Death,    fond    Nature, 

cease : 

He  leads  the  virtuous  to  the  realms  of  peace ; 
His  to  conduct  to  the  immortal  plains, 
Where  heav'n's  Supreme  in  bliss  and  glory  reigns. 
There  sits,  illustrious  Sir,  thy  beauteous  spouse; 
A  gem-blaz'd  circle  beaming  on  her  brows, 

*Enoch.    **EHjah, 

81 


<B>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <gf> 

Hail'd  with  acclaim  among  the  heav'nly  choirs, 
Her  soul  new-kindling  with  seraphic  fires, 
To  notes  divine  she  tunes  the  vocal  strings, 
While  heav'n's  high  concave  with  the  music  rings. 
Virtue's  rewards  can  mortal  pencil  paint? 
No — all  descriptive  arts,  and  eloquence  are  faint; 
Nor  canst  thou,  Oliver,  assent  refuse 
To  heav'nly  tidings  from  the  Afric  muse. 

As  soon  may  change  thy  laws  eternal  fate, 
As  the  saint  miss  the  glories  I  relate ; 
Or  her  Benevolence  forgotten  lie, 
Which  wip'd  the  trick'ling  tear  from  Mis'ry's  eye. 
Whene'er  the  adverse  winds  were  known  to  blow, 
When  loss  to  loss*  ensu'd,  and  woe  to  woe, 
Calm  and  serene  beneath  her  father's  hand 
She  sat  resign'd  to  the  divine  command. 

No  longer  then,  great  Sir,  her  death  deplore, 
And  let  us  hear  the  mournful  sigh  no  more, 
Restrain  the  sorrow  streaming  from  thine  eye, 
Be  all  thy  future  moments  crown'd  with  joy! 
Nor  let  thy  wishes  be  to  earth  confin'd, 
But  soaring  high  pursue  th'  unbodied  mind. 
Forgive  the  muse,  forgive  th'  advent'rous  lays, 
That  fain  thy  soul  to  heav'nly  scenes  would  raise. 

*Three  amiable  Daughters  who  died  when  just    arrived    to   Women's 
Estate. 

82 


The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 


A  JfamwU  to  Ammra 


Mr*.  S. 


Adieu,  New-England's  smiling  meads 
Adieu,  the  flow'ry  plain : 
I  leave  thine  op'ning  charms,  O  spring 
And  tempt  the  roaring  main. 

II 

In  vain  for  me  the  flow'rets  rise, 
And  boast  their  gaudy  pride, 
While  here  beneath  the  Northern  skies 
I  mourn  for  health  deny'd. 

Ill 

Celestial  maid  of  rosy  hue, 

0  let  me  feel  thy  reign ! 

1  languish  till  thy  face  I  view 
Thy  vanish' d  joys  regain. 

83 


<B>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

IV 

Susannah  mourns,  nor  can  I  bear, . 
To  see  the  crystal  flow'r, 
Or  mark  the  tender  falling-  tear 
At  sad  departure's  hour ; 


V 


Not  unregarding  can  I  see 
Her  soul  with  grief  opprest 
So  let  no  sigh,  nor  groans  for  rhe 
Steal  from  her  pensive  breast. 

VI 

In  vain  the  feather'd  warblers  sing, 
In  vain  the  garden  blooms, 
And  on  the  bosom  of  the  spring 
Breathes  out  her  sweet  perfumes. 

VII 

While  for  Britannia's  distant  shore 
We  sweep  the  liquid  plain, 
And  with  astonished  eyes  explore 
The  wide-extended  main. 

84 


£}      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

VIII 

Lo !  Health  appears !  celestial  dame ! 
Complacent  and  serene, 
With  Hebe's  mantle  o'er  her  Frame, 
With  soul-delighting  mein. 

IX 

To  mark  the  vale  where  London  lies 
With  misty  vapors  crown'd 
Which  cloud  Aurora's  thousand  dyes, 
And  veil  her  charms  around. 


Why,  Phoebus,  moves  thy  car  so  slow  ? 
So  slow  thy  rising  ray? 
Give  us  the  famous  town  to  view, 
Thou  glorious  king  of  day! 

XI 

For  thee,  Britannia,  I  resign 
New-England's  smiling  fields; 
To  view  again  her  charms  divine. 
What  joy  the  prospect  yields ! 

85 


<g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      § 

XII 

But  thou!  Temptation  hence  awayr 
With  all  thy  fatal  train 
Nor  once  seduce  my  soul  away, 
By  thine  enchanting-  strain. 

XIII 

Thrice  happy  they,  whose  heav'nly  shield 
Secures  their  souls  from  harms 
And  fell  Temptation  on  the  field 
Of  all  its  pow'r  disarms! 

Boston,  May  7,  1773, 


3L 


A  bird,  delicious  to  the  taste, 

On  which  an  army  once  did  feast, 

Sent  by  an  hand  unseen ; 

A  creature  of  the  horned  race, 

Which  Britain's  royal  standards  grace ; 

A  gem  of  vivid  green; 

86 


<Q>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley 

II 

A  town  of  gaiety  and  sport, 

Where  beaux  and  beauteous  nymphs  resort, 

And  gallantry  doth  reign; 

A  Dardan  hero  fam'd  of  old 

For  youth  and  beauty,  as  we're  told,. 

And  by  a  monarch  slain ; 

III 

A  peer  of  popular  applause, 
Who  doth  our  violated  laws, 
And  grievances  proclaim. 
Th'  initials  show  a  vanquished  town, 
That  adds  fresh  glory  and  renown 
To  old  Britannia's  fame. 


Att  Answer  10  tljr  Srhns,  bg  ttj£  Autljflr  nf 


The  poet  asks,  and  Phillis  can't  refuse. 
To  show  th'  obedience  of  the  Infant  muse. 
She  knows  the  Quail  of  most  inviting  taste 
Fed  Israel's  army  in  the  dreary  waste; 
And  what's  on  Britain's  royal  standard  borne, 
But  the  tall,  graceful,  rampant  Unicorn? 

87 


°g>      The  Poems  of  Phillis  Wheatley      <§ 

The  Emerald  with  a  vivid  verdue  glows 

Among  the  gems  which  regal  crowns  compose; 

Boston's  a  town,  polite  and  debonair, 

To  which  the  beaux  and  beauteous  nymphs  repair,. 

Each  Helen  strikes  the  mind  with  sweet  surprise, 

While  living  lightning  flashes  from  her  eyes, 

See  young  Euphorbus  of  the  Dardan  line 

By  Menelaus   hand  to  death  resign ; 

The  well  known  peer  of  popular  applause 

Is  C m  zealous  to  support  our  laws. 

Quebec  now  vanquished  must  obey, 
She  too  must  annual  tribute  pay 
To  Britain  of  immortal  fame. 
And  add  new  glory  to  her  name. 


FINIS. 


